Today I took my sister, my brother-in-law and my 86 year old dad shopping. Between my dodgy spine and Fibromyalgia, I generally walk slowly. Imagine my surprise today, then, when I actually found myself walking faster than someone else in the shopping centre.
Sure, he was 90ish and had a walker, but he was very gracious and let me enjoy my moment.
Who says gentlemen don’t exist anymore?
Today I was at a potluck lunch where the guests included a number of my relatives.
When I walked in, my sister-in-law congratulated me on the award I won this week for my book, Nova.
“What did you win an award for?” One of the ladies asked, with a time that suggested she was surprised that I could win an award for anything.
“Pole dancing,” I replied.
Nobody laughed. It was such a good line, too.
One lovely young lady, whom I didn’t know, said, “Really? That’s fantastic!”
Seriously, one look at me should have told her I am no pole dancer. Between my decrepit spine and my fibromyalgia, the only thing I can ever climb these days is the pain scale between 1 and 10.
“No, it was for my book. I write poetry.”
“Oh. That’s… kind of cool.”
But not as cool as pole dancing. I get it.
This morning, my man made bacon, eggs and grilled tomatoes for an Easter Sunday breakfast.
One of our guests dropped a little on her white skirt and commented that it was going to be hard to get the mark out.
“Make-up wipes will get it out,” I said helpfully.
“Oh, thank you! Great tip!” she said.
Just as she was putting more food in her mouth, I leaned over to my husband and whispered quite loudly, “She said I’ve got great tits!”
Just as I had hoped, my friend nearly spat her food out again as she laughed.
And then, as diplomatic as ever, my husband said,”I don’t think that’s what she said.”
“As if she didn’t,” I said, indicating the general area, “Check ’em out!”
And then nobody knew what to say.
Good times.
Driving from Halifax to Peggy’s Cove, we passed through several small bayside villages.
We drove into a village named Dover.
Sean said, “Give me some white cliffs!”
I responded with, “And some bluebirds!”
Best conversation so far today.
Yesterday at the zoo, we were watching the hippo swim and push a log around with her nose when this conversation happened.
Jenn: “That’s how I swim.”
Zoey: “What??”
Jenn: “Front feet only…”
Me: “Those are hands, Jenn…”
Jenn: “Same thing!”
Oh, Jenn. You’re awesome.
If you would like to see a video of the hippo in question at Toronto Zoo, you can see it at http://youtu.be/rG_XIkITe6Y
It had been a long, busy day at work following several days plagued by severe headaches. I headed to the supermarket to get some things for dinner and to stock up on Tim Tams for my family and friends in the U.S. and Canada, as I am heading back over there in a couple of weeks.
I had ten packs of Tim Tams and a stack of other Aussie treats in my basket. A lady nearby looked into my basket and then looked at me, as though she were trying to shame me for my wilful flirtation with Type 2 Diabetes.
I could have called her out on being a nosy cow who makes assumptions about strangers way too quickly but, instead, I looked her right in the eye with feigned innocence as I took the last box of Tee Vee Snacks from right in front of her and said, “What? I’m hungry, okay?”
She couldn’t look away fast enough.
“There!” I said inside my head, “that will teach you to mind your own business.”
When I got to the checkout, the attendant was looking strangely at my stash and at me, but at least she tried to hide it. Once again, I looked at her and said, “Never can stop at just one, you know!”
She tried to hide her reaction with a smile, but it was awkward.
“Not really,” I continued. “I’m going to America and Canada in a couple of weeks and they can’t get Tim Tams there. I’m performing a mission of mercy.”
That time, she really was horrified.
“Those poor people!” she said. “Ten packets isn’t enough!”
“I know, right,” I said, “but I don’t want to be arrested for trafficking a drug of dependence.”
“Can they do that?”
“Yeah, twelve packs and I’d be a goner. They’d confiscate them all at the airport and arrest me. ”
Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open.
Never mind how tired I had been just twenty minutes earlier. I walked out of that store feeling like an absolute legend.
Tonight, LMC and I were both in my study, playing on our iPads.
It was quiet for a long time until, out of the blue, she said, “You know what’s funny?”
“Me,” I said.
There was no further conversation.
When you have low blood pressure and you’re having a procedure done under local anaesthetic, it’s not polite to laugh when the medical staff freak out because your BP has dropped to 76/48.
The doctors were discussing the fluid in my husband’s left pleural cavity. The doctor in charge looked at him, smiled and said, “I want to tap that today.”
Yep. That’s what she said.
The doctor asked for a stool sample, so this morning my husband obliged.
He has been telling nurses for 90 minutes that it’s in the bathroom waiting for them.
I’ve been adding my own commentary to the conversations:
“It’s THIS BIG!”
“I just checked… it’s now three feet long.”
“I guess you’re used to people trying to give you crap.”
“I guess if they don’t take it away, we’ll have to go on undeterred.”
“Your request has been logged.”
“Well, that’s just shit.”
“You weren’t meant to fill the whole container, you know…”
“It just kept piling up like he’s a soft-serve machine or something.”
“Any drinks or fries with your order?”
“There’s a bear in there…”
It’s a gift.
You’re welcome.
Oh wait, I can use that, too.
An Aussie Maple Leaf, adrift on the wind... 