I went for a walk tonight so I could clear my head. Plus I had already swam and cycled today, so I thought that maybe if I walked too I can tell people I trained for a triathlon today. You’ll keep my secret right?
These are the things that I learned:
I Am Completely Uncool
No I didn’t hit my head on the sidewalk. It’s really true! I am as shocked as you are.
I was grooving along to a song I hadn’t heard before. It was hot. It was a cover of Michael Bublé’s ‘Haven’t Met You Yet’. It was Mini Pops. I really need to get a playlist going instead of just hitting shuffle on my iPhone. Mousercize seems to come along too often to be random. I rarely notice until the song is almost over. If we used my phone to play music at a party, it would be embarrassing.
Also, yesterday I was watching the last bit of the closing ceremonies and I needed twitter to tell me that it was Queen. I at least recognized some of the music, but couldn’t name who it was. But I had no idea who The Who
was were is. It’s surprising that my high school BFFs haven’t disowned me yet. They tried so hard to teach me but it was hopeless. I think that may be the entire reason why neither of them is on facebook or twitter. It’s an elaborate payback scheme, designed to watch me twitch. That or they can’t bear to watch me humiliate myself. Yeah. It’s probably that.
We Are Environmental Heroes
I was looking at some of my neighbours’ gorgeous green lawns and feeling some definite yard envy. Our lawn has been hideous since the day we moved in 10 years ago, with varying degrees of effort, and never much success. This year we have completely given up. I see these gorgeous lawns and know how much they must have had to water, with the lack of rain that we have had this year. It was a good year to give up. I have decided that we are not lazy and uncaring. We are environmentally responsible.
I am also stealing the neighbour’s Rose Award. I’m sure that sign isn’t made from recycled plastic. I’ll hang it next to our Weed Police citation.
I Can Eat Anytime. Anyplace.
I was walking along,
looking in people’s windows minding my own business and I was hit by the sudden delicious scent of Indian food. I began to make cookie monster sounds inside my head. At least I hope they were inside my head. It’s hard to tell sometimes with headphones on. It smelled so good. If I could have narrowed down which house it was, there was a good chance I was going to bust in on them for a sample. A butter chicken break-in if you will. What’s all this malarkey about exercising suppressing your appetite? I had just finished Swiss Chalet for heaven’s sake before my walk, and here I was seriously considering a home invasion for tandoori chicken? Ooh and maybe samosas. I would definitely kick a door in for samosas.
It took all of my will-power to move on, but when I was almost home I smelled the food coming from another house. The people at that house are so nice, and I am sure they would have invited me in. Also drawing their curtains may have kept them from having to look at me, but they still would have known I was out there. Less awkward to just fix me a plate.
I Watch Too Much Television
I saw 3 separate referees driving in their cars. On the same road. Within 5 minutes of each other.
Being athletically challenged, I have no idea how many refs are required at any given time, but to me it seemed excessive.
One might even say suspicious.
That led me to think about how their shirts were black and white stripes.
Like in prison.
How sure AM I that they wear orange jumpsuits in prison? Not sure at all. Maybe they have gone all retro and gone back to the striped look. These are the important kinds of information that the government fails to tell us about. There should be a bulletin when they change the dress-code so caring citizens such as myself know what to look for. Or at least something on Twitter. I just want to do my part.
Maybe there had been a break-out from the women’s prison! Wait? Do we have a women’s prison in this neighbourhood? What ELSE are they not telling us?
Of course I decided that I was being ridiculous.
Clearly it was just a Lady Footlocker union meeting.
Children Are Cruel (Especially My Own)
Grace ran up to me when I got home and asked me what I was doing. I said that I was stretching. She blinked at me a few times like she was trying to snap out of her hallucination, and she repeated the question. I told her again. She said “Wow! I’ve never seen you stretching before!” in the same way that an archaeologist would react to seeing a living dinosaur.
I’m not sharing my ice cream with her.
|I think she would have been less surprised to see this|
Psychologists Are Not the Only Ones Who Use Dolls to Work Through Trauma
While I was writing this evening, I was listening to Molly and Grace playing with their dolls. Adorable. Until I realized that they were playing “School Nurse” and they were doing a lice check. Several of the dolls were sent home. One of them was crying (doll, not kid…although I do think it was a cathartic sob channeled from the kid who had it twice last year).
Then they switched roles and became the moms, fussing over the hysterical dolls, and did a thorough cleaning and combing.
I scratched myself bald just listening to them.
I also have the psychologist on speed-dial.
And the exterminator.
Photo credit: Creative Commons of David Siu