So, it was sort of an ordinary average day, really… but even the most ordinary, average days have their share of quirkiness…
* Yesterday Squishy wore her birthday clothes to school, and I took a picture of her in her finery. Because she’d had an 80’s party, she asked for me to put her hair up in an “80’s way.” I managed, and she’s adorable, but oi–I can’t believe I used to have that exact hairstyle.
* Chicken went to get her teeth looked at (since she’s still on our insurance) and texted me while I was on my walk, asking me to bring her coffee. I did, and we toasted and split two English muffins while talking about her coming day. I realized that I liked this arrangement–she and her brother close enough to drop in, and yet far enough to be independent. I wish there could be a handbook for emerging adults listing this as one of the options, because it’s got definite perks.
* The terrible two are getting slightly less horrific on the walk around the park. Part of that is I pull them off the walk and we let joggers and other walkers go by, and part of it is they’re starting to respond to a command I didn’t set out to make. I say, “That dog does not exist,” and their barking subsides. I’m not sure if I’m executing a Jedi mind trick or if the dogs are just getting trained to not bark when they see another dog because I say this while jerking on their leashes. Either way, it’s such a relief, because they are by far the smallest, most obnoxious dogs on the walk.
* Yesterday, while on the phone with my stepmom–and walking at the park–I pulled off to the side to let a group of three older folks, each with a large dog, go by. My mom was signing off on me, because dogs barking and me yelling at the dogs and chaos and shit, and suddenly one of the older women said, “You’re right. He’s not my president either!”
My jaw dropped and I looked down, realizing that I’d thrown on the T-shirt I’d had made right after the election, the one that basically wrote a novel and finished with, “He is NOT my president!” I gaped after the woman as she and her entourage disappeared and thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t end up confronting a trio of elderly Trump supporters as we all wrangled dogs.
And gave a little prayer of thanks for salty spry elderly women who weren’t afraid to say, “He is NOT MY PRESIDENT!” in front of a total stranger.
* Today my folks brought spaghetti dinner for Squish, so she could get a dinner made by grandma–she was very pleased. While they were here I remembered that, for Squish’s school fundraiser this year, we’d had a cutting board made with one of Squish’s art projects on it. We’d actually had a LOT of stuff made, but this thing we saved for my folks. I remembered to get it for them and they said, “Hey, you could have waited for two weeks from now, right?” Cause Easter, AND my stepmom’s birthday, right?
Anyway, we all looked at each other and I said, “Uh, the odds of me actually remembering this for a real birthday or holiday are, you know, slim.”
“Yeah,” Mate said, “that wasn’t going to happen.”
“And then,” my stepmom added, “it would just lay around the house for another year before you broke down and used it yourself.”
We all nodded our heads in agreement, and it was funny–apparently that’s a grownup thing to do and not something specific to Mate and I. Who knew?
* So, at the grocery store today, as I walked in, there was a man walking out PAST the checkstands–as in, he never went to checkout.
He was not wearing a shirt.
Instead, he was holding his shirt like a bag, and it was stuffed with boxes of granola bars and breakfast bars and non-perishable stuff.
I stared at him and he just walked right on by me out into the parking lot.
Not a soul stopped him–or even seemed to notice him.
I made my way to the produce section, and one of the nice checkout women was there–we know each other, sort of, because I’ve gone to this grocery store for nearly twenty years and she’s worked there for nearly that long.
“Hey, how are you doing?” she asked, smiling.
“Did you see that guy?” I proceeded to tell her about Mr. Shirtless Shoplifter, and she was surprisingly nonchalant.
“Yeah, that happens–every day, actually.”
“Huh. I didn’t expect that here.” I grinned and quoted Bill Murray. “Other chains, maybe, but not a Safeway.”
She seemed to think that was hilarious, and I was glad that I brightened her day, but seriously.
The guy just took his shirt off, stuffed it with food, and walked out.
Balls of solid rock.
