Our Golden Retriever, Rudy, has been following me around for the last hour. He’s always very interested when I do something new. I guess the only way to get rid of him is to put away the vacuum cleaner.
Archive for September, 2013|Monthly archive page
I told her that I had totally lost my cool when a relative said something that I disagreed with. The result was a very loud yelling match.
This doesn’t happen often with me, and not in years. I usually suppress my anger and then vent all over my husband when we get home.
Lately, I’ve been venting all over whomever is annoying me.
My sister said that this was not acceptable behavior, unless it was happening because I’m getting older.
“You know how some older people have no filters?” she asked. “They say whatever comes into their heads no matter whom they offend. Maybe that’s happening to you.”
“I’m 53 years old,” I answered. “I’m not even eligible to apply for that license for another 27 years.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said. “Well, I think you’d better find another way to deal with your temper. Why don’t you buy a mini water pistol and keep it in your purse? Then, when someone makes you angry, you can just whip it out and squirt him or her with water.”
“I imagine that would make the situation even worse,” I said.
“Nah,” she replied. “Do it when nobody’s looking and then deny any knowledge of what happened.”
“Yeah, that’s a great plan,” I said.
“How many handbags do you own?” she asked.
“Four everyday ones and three evening bags,” I said. “Why?”
“I think that you should get one for every bag you have, just so that you’re always prepared,” she answered.
After a good laugh, we moved on to other topics.
Two days later, I received a package. Inside the box were 12 colorful mini water pistols.
My husband asked what I was going to do with a dozen water pistols. I told him my sister’s idea. He shook his head and walked away, never suspecting that I might actually take her suggestion seriously.
I am now faced with an ethical question … would it be wrong …
… to buy five more handbags to accommodate the five extra water pistols?
My son is nuts … and I am so proud. He’s a great young man, mostly due to my husband’s role modeling, but I can see my influence, on the odd occasion.
Most people would say that he is quiet and introverted. And he is, in public. But, once in a while, he publicly does something so outrageous, just to amuse himself, that outsiders are flabbergasted. I absolutely love this quality in him. And, I’m fairly sure he got it from me.
The other day, he went into Manhattan alone to attend a Fan Fest for a sports team. When he returned, he told me that it was a fun event. He added that he had especially enjoyed the trip itself.
“Why?” I asked.
“When I was at Grand Central, I photo bombed a bride and groom,” he said. He looked a little sheepish, but mostly gleeful.
“What did you do?” I asked, amazed.
“I was walking to my train, and in the center of the station were a bride and groom posing for photographs. I ran up behind them, jumped up in the air and waved my arms.”
“Were they furious?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he laughed. “I got out of there, fast.”
And that’s, fortunately, where my son and I differ. I would have gotten caught.
“What are you making?” my husband asked hopefully from the family room. I was in the kitchen and he and our son were sprawled on sofas watching football on TV.
“I’m not making anything,” I responded. “I’m filling our new canisters with flour and sugar. I’ve finally found canisters that are the same size. For some inexplicable reason, when you buy a set of four canisters, there’s only one big one and you have to decide whether to use it for the flour or the sugar. Then you have a half bag of flour or sugar left over and nowhere to put it. This is so exciting!”
“Wow,” said my husband. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy.”
“It’s not just that I can fit all of the sugar and flour into them. They’re also the coolest canisters I’ve ever seen.”
“Uh huh,” my husband responded, clearly losing interest.
My husband looked up. “Wow, they are cool.”
“And you laughed at me when I called them that,” I said.
“I was picturing something else. But, you’re right; they’re great. How can you tell which is the sugar and which is the flour, though?”
“Well, I’m going to look through the glass. But you can feel free to label them,” I said. I didn’t get a response. My husband was back to watching football.
I thought about his question as I returned to the kitchen. Maybe labeling them was a good idea. Flour and sugar do look a lot alike at first glance.
I opened the junk drawer to find a Sharpie. I don’t want flour in my cereal tomorrow.