The Joke. (part 2)

As my iPod whispered sweet nothings into its speakers, I wiped away the cob webs that had accumulated from a year’s worth of neglect.   I promised, this time, to treat it with respect and dignity.  I swore (on Girl Scout’s honor) never to use obscene hand gestures ever again.  After a few test runs, it was clear the treadmill and I had buried the hatchet.

Next I had to make a withdrawal from my children’s college fund so I could purchase a pair of “running” shoes from a store that specializes in, of all things, running shoes!  Upon my arrival the man asked me what I was looking for.  ME:  “A pair of running shoes.”  HIM:  “Do you run frequently?”  ME:  “No offense but does this body LOOK like it runs anywhere but to be first at the buffet line?”  HIM:  Snicker, laugh, eye roll

After 45 minutes walking around the store with old shoes, no shoes and 17 different kids of new shoes he tells me there is a problem.  ME:  “Of course there is a problem because this whole thing is a joke.”  I tell him.  “Do you want to here it?  My joke?”  HIM:  “Not really.”  ME:  “Ok then.  What could possibly be a problem”  HIM:  “Well, your feet are sooooo wide that I do not sell a woman’s shoe wide enough to fit your “running” foot properly.”  ME:  Blank stare.  HIM:  “Soooo, that last shoe you tried on is a men’s seven and a half quadruple extra wide.  That is THE only shoe I have that will fit you properly”  ME:  “Of course.  Sooooo does this shoe come with a WIDE LOAD sign so people behind me will know not to get too close to the sides of my feet?”  HIM:  “The register is that way.”  ME:  “Thanks for your help.” 

     

(…to be continued)

The Joke.

And it was.  A joke.  That’s how it started anyway.  That day in January when Sara and I made a pact to get healthy and start exercising regularly.  That was the first part of the joke.  Neither of us were motivated enough to get the other to exercise consistently.  SARA:  “You wanna get together after school today and do that sit-up tape I have?”  ME: “Naaaa.”  SARA:  “Ok.  Talk to you tomorrow.”  It was laughable.

ME:  “Maybe we should sign up for The Lake Run.  Perhaps that will motivate us.”  This.  This was the second part of the joke and quite possibly the punch line.  Sara laughed.  She laughed hard.  We both laughed.  You know that laugh.  The “I’M PEEING IN MY PANTS” laugh.  It was pretty funny.  At that point the farthest I had ever run was, literally, to the bathroom.

Fast forward two weeks to a Pampered Chef party and a group of cackling women.  There it was again.  The Lake Run joke. Oh how we all laughed.  Our Pampered Chef lady did not laugh.  She had already signed up and had begun her training.  We laughed at her too but somehow, by the time everyone was parting ways, we had all jokingly agreed to do it together.  By the end of the week I had told everyone that would listen about my joke and before I knew it, 15 women (and a Pastor :-) jokingly agreed to do it too. 

Not wanting to be out done by any of my friends and for fear of ending up as the butt end of the joke on D-Day, I knew I needed to begin MY training right then!  

There is a treadmill in the basement.  That treadmill and I parted ways more than a year ago.  It was ugly.  I’m pretty sure I used a few four letter words and not so nice hand gestures the last time I was down there.   To begin my training, I had to befriend that old nemesis of mine.  So I descended the stairs armed with my Swiffer duster, a can of WD-40 and waiving a white flag.

(….to be continued.)

It's Cold Outside

Endangered Species.

-noun

a species at risk of extinction because of human activity and/or changes in climate.

We have an endangered species in our home.  It shows it’s face  every once in a blue moon.  Thus referred to as an endangered species.  Good Lord am I smart!  I saw our endangered species this very afternoon and just happened to have camera in hand.

  

It’s called sibling love and it is very rare indeed!

Packing Away Her Wings.

Sydney lost yanked out a tooth at school the other day.  It is probably one of her last. 

She still believes in the tooth fairy.  Or so I thought. 

Just before bed she came to me and announced that she was not going to put the tooth under her pillow.  No.  Not this time.  She had labeled this one a keeper.  “Fine” I say.  “I’m sure if you change your mind in a couple of days the tooth fairy will be happy to make a U-turn.” 

“Are you sure the tooth fairy is real mom?  Tell me the truth.  I reeeaalllyyy want to know.  The boys at school keep saying the tooth fairy is your dad but there is no way “she” could be my dad.  He is sooo loud I would have heard him.  So tell me.  Is the tooth fairy real?  I really want to know.” 

I stared into her eyes for a long moment both sad that we have reached this point in her life and trying to decide whether she really wants me to tell her.   She was eager and happy.  Begging, at this point, for me to tell her the truth.

“No.” I say. 

“She’s not real?  So it’s been dad all along?”  she asks.

"Ah….probably not your father.  Of this I am certain.”  I explain.

“Then who?” she asks  and I think, is it really that inconceivable that I could be the tooth fairy.  “Me!” was all I could say.

(with a snort and a laugh) “You?  You are the tooth fairy?”

“Yes.”  I say.

Her shoulders slumped, her eyes dropped with disappointment and suddenly the smile was long gone.  I misjudged this moment.  She was not ready for the truth.  Or was she just disappointed that it was me rather than her dad?

“Are you suuuuure?” 

“Yes.” I say.

“So you are the tooth fairy?” she asks incredulously.  “You put on a fairy outfit with wings, sneak into my room while I’m asleep, take my tooth and put money under my pillow?”  She was serious now.

“Errr….umm…ya, something like that.” I say

With renewed excitement she asks to see my costume and announces that she is going to search the whole house for it and when she finds it she is going to bring it to school to show her friends as “proof” that the tooth fairy is not real!!

“Sure.”  I say.  “You do that.  I’ve packed my wings away reeeallly good; in a secret place.  Let me know when you find them.  Oh, and make sure you give them back.  Your brother will be losing teeth soon.”

And with that the tooth fairy met her demise. 

RIP tooth fairy.  RIP.

Lucky with a touch of thoughtfulness.

A couple of weeks ago I was in a car accident.  A man, in a rush to buy snacks at Wal-Mart, hit me head on in the Petco parking lot.  I was alone in the car that day.  I walked away with only a bruise on my arm.  I was lucky.

The insurance agent contacted me with a list of repair shops; most of which were associated with dealerships or major auto body chains.    One, he explained, family owned and operated in Bloomington for a very long time.  Paul’s.  Having had my fill of car dealerships and major chains lately, I decided to try my luck with the little guy.

Two weeks and $6,000 worth of repaired damage later, I picked up my car, shook Mr. Paul’s hand and thanked him for his hard work. 

Today I received a letter from Mr. Paul.

“Melanie

When a customer arrives at our facility it is usually the direct result of a misfortunate or unlucky event.  Sadly, we’ve seen a lot of bad things happen to good people.

With that said, I’d like not only to thank you for allowing us to repair your damaged vehicle but attempt to turn your luck around.

Enclosed please find a few scratch off lottery tickets.  If you’re not a gambler, please pass these on to a friend or family member that is.  Otherwise, grab a coin, my friend, and scratch away.”

And so it seems I really was lucky. 

Willing a Win.

 

Sometimes, no matter how close your seats are to the in-zone,

no matter how many players utter their pregame prayers,

no matter how many fans spend their entire paychecks on wacky team apparel,

and no matter how many high-fives are slapped between perfect strangers in the crowd

sometimes, it’s just not enough for them to pull out a win.