There are days when things just couldn’t be better. There are days where the sun shines a little brighter and you sing a pop song in the shower and your hair falls just right. There are days like say a girl’s wedding day when she has every high hope there is to be had about the future. There are days when you step on the scale and you’re delightfully surprised and then you get a miscellaneous check in the mail from last year’s tax refund and you just look up at the bluest sky and say a prayer of thanks. There are days when you randomly feel extra appreciated and life’s unfair moments seem to finally find their balance.
And then . . . . There are days like yesterday. Oh. My. Lanta.
Yesterday was one for the books. Well let's see, I woke up to my husband’s clenched fist colliding with my ear and jaw while dreaming of chasing a Tyrannosaurus- Rex in a John Deere Gator. He’s a real active dreamer and for whatever reason he’s usually playing some kind of combination between Indiana Jones and an Ace Ventura role. The other side of his strange random dream patterns is this little-girl belly giggle he does. I’ll feel the bed shaking and look to end where his toes are wiggling like he’s being tickled and then the giggle starts and the high pitched gleeful sound is just about enough to make my already irritated mood from waking this way just a little more irritated. No wonder he’s so giggly, he’s happy- he’s sleeping. How nice for him.
With a pounding headache I got out of bed and stumbled from the bedroom only to step directly on Charlie’s John Deere tractor model, you know . . . the kind with extra sharp exhaust pipes coming out the top. So to recap: it’s now 7:03, exactly three minutes after waking oh so abruptly and I’m already cursing my throbbing face and the bright green farm supply company I typically proudly support- this is how I know it’s going to be an excellent day.
My luck continued as I walked out of my house and it was pouring rain on my roofing material I left exposed in the bed of my truck- the one time I don’t put my cover up. I drove my wet tools to the gas station where I had barely opened the door before I had an experience unlike any experience I’d ever had. All in one beat, a senile older gentleman clapped his hands loudly maybe a half inch from my nose and yelled while spit flew out of his mouth, “Who do you think you are?! . . .Eleanor Roosevelt?!”
Um . . . what?
I decided instantly against staying and making the purchase I was planning to, so I turned on my heel and walked through the still open door back to the safety of my truck. I got to the Convention Center where the trade show for my business was being held and I began inviting people to play the game my exhibit had on the display table. I said nicely with a smile, “Pick a duck! Would you like to play Pluck a Duck? Just pick a duck!” The very first person I encountered at the show was a nice looking elderly woman pushing a walker and when I asked her if she wanted to pick a duck, she looked me dead in the eye and with all the spite her 80 years of life had piled on her tiny frame she said slowly and deliberately,“YOU pick a duck and see how YOU like it!”
Alright then.
I finally got my run in and then picked my son from daycare. We went straight to the local grocery where he got his little “Customer in Training” cart from the dispenser and preceded to smack multiple shoppers in the face with the long plastic flag that stuck up out of the corner on it. I walked behind him, apologizing as I went, and I started noticing that I was getting the most interesting stares from a couple men my age. They weren’t the “Mmm mm” type stares, oh no. They were the, "What is wrong with her? Quick- look away” type of stares. I thought maybe I had something on my face or legs so I checked. Twice. The second time I checked I shuddered as it all clicked. Um . . . what?
I decided instantly against staying and making the purchase I was planning to, so I turned on my heel and walked through the still open door back to the safety of my truck. I got to the Convention Center where the trade show for my business was being held and I began inviting people to play the game my exhibit had on the display table. I said nicely with a smile, “Pick a duck! Would you like to play Pluck a Duck? Just pick a duck!” The very first person I encountered at the show was a nice looking elderly woman pushing a walker and when I asked her if she wanted to pick a duck, she looked me dead in the eye and with all the spite her 80 years of life had piled on her tiny frame she said slowly and deliberately,“YOU pick a duck and see how YOU like it!”
Alright then.
I was wearing my husband’s underwear. In public. Oh good grief.
I often wore Andy's black Adidas boxer/briefs to work-out in my home as they don’t ride up, they’re just long enough to be comfortable, and they breathe real nice. Go figure. I can’t imagine what these guys were thinking, seeing me wearing what they probably had in their top drawer at home right here in the grocery store. If that wasn’t bad enough, my husband clued me in later that they were also slightly transparent. He called it karma fo rstealing his underwear in the first place. I called it another small miracle adding to an already epic failure of a day. I’m going to try and fall asleep thinking about a Tyrannosaurus-Rex this evening and maybe he’ll learn just what karma is all about.
Here’s to tomorrow!
