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Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Stuck!

Got stuck today.
Not in traffic.
Not in an elevator.

Got stuck in my clothes!

I was running late for a doctor's appointment today. Needed to use the bathroom but no time. The office wasn't too far away.

Traffic was a little slow but got there with a few minutes to spare.

Checked in and hurried to the bathroom.

I'd received wonderful compliments from coworkers earlier about my black jumpsuit.

It was cute but not so much in that bathroom stall.

Why did I buy a jumpsuit with buttons that didn't go all the way down??

I'm walking around in that small stall trying to get the suit down, like a puppy chasing its tail. Then I heard a toilet flush.
This made it worse! Thought I was in there alone.
After a few more stumbles and turns, I heard another flush.

Another person!

Finally, I was able to get the suit down without tearing it. Another flush!

Realized I was the only one in there... it was an automated toilet. All that movement created flushes.

Finally got myself  suited situated and back to the waited area.

"Or there you are!" the receptionist said, just as I sat down. "We were worried about ya. Everything okay?"

I just nodded, smiled and wiped the sweat from my head.

Bet I burned at least 50 calories in that bathroom.


Friday, March 10, 2017

Memory


My memory isn't what it used to be but it was pretty good when I was younger. Spending summers at my Godmother's house helped with that. We really referred to our mornings as prison time. Her daughter would cook oatmeal; regular oatmeal. I can still see that little Quaker dude on the box. At eight or nine, he seemed to grin at me while I tried to eat it. We were not allowed to leave the table until we ate our food. Being the leader I was at that time, I showed the others how to gradually put chunks of the lumpy stuff in a napkin. Then, once the warden she left the kitchen the third time, run and put the full napkins behind the curtain. We'd go back before lunch to dispose of it. Needed good memory to do that. Should've had common sense too. Doing that made her think we liked the stuff.

But my memory, at that age, has nothing on our daughter's memory at fifteen. While attending our son's school Open House for rising freshman recently, I also spoke to one of our daughter's current teachers.

"How is she doing in your class so far?" I asked him, shaking his hand.

"She's doing pretty well. She still has to do the presentation, but it's been hard for her with losing her voice and all."

Speechless.

"She was out for the three days when she was sick and it's been difficult for her to talk. The hoarseness has been bad. Feel bad for her."

Yes. You should feel bad for her. I thought.

I was hoping my face did not reflect what I was thinking.

He informed me that she could do the alternative which would be to take a test in place of the presentation. He seemed genuinely sorry for her.

When we got home I told her about the blind-sided conversation.

"Momma, you didn't tell him that I didn't lose my voice did you?"

Speechless again.

Her memory- much better than mine. She actually remembered to change her voice each time she went to that class. And it was believable.

"You may want to look into theater arts. You're good!"

"Well, actually, I-" she began.

"I wasn't serious!" I assured her.