My early morning walks with Reggie are my favorite. I get to look like I’m being a responsible adult; I’m walking my dog. Truth is, I need these walks. I love these walks. Being outside always inspires me to believe I can face another day.Over the years, Reggie and I have seen some some stuff.
Sunday’s walk was strange. Reggie and I always see squirrels. Sometimes when we see squirrels, we chase them. I want Reggie to remember he’s an animal. I worry that he might be confused. Reggie might think he’s actually my human son. The main reason I think that is because, you know, that’s how I treat him.
When we chase squirrels, Reggie’s on a short leash (literally, not metaphorically), and when I think I’m sprinting hard, I’ve been told I’m actually doing some kind of trot thing. So, I don’t know how much these chases help Reggie connect with his primal instincts. At least we look awesome when we’re doing this. I am at least sure of that.
This past Sunday’s walk was strange because we saw two squirrels mating. At first I thought they were just playing. Then, I’m like, no. They’re mating. Those two squirrels are definitely mating. I told Reggie to look the other way. But, Reggie’s about as rude as you get. He was totally all up in their business. I was hoping they’d break it up when we got closer.
I yelled, “Be decent you guys.”
They didn’t care.
Then, I started to get frustrated. I said, “You two want us to light some candles, or turn some music on? Don’t you have a little squirrel room you could go to somewhere?” Nothing. They ignored me.
Squirrels are disgusting.
Right after we made it through that atrocity I thought I heard loud music. Then, I’m like, no. That’s yelling. That’s a GIRL yelling. Or, screetching, actually. Then I saw the young women. She was stumbling drunk. She was sobbing, and yelling, “You don’t love me!” She was walking sideways through the Walgreen’s parking lot.
There was a young man following her. I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying. He was trying not to attract our attention (too late). I do think I heard him say, “Please, get in the car.” He appeared sober. I felt sorry for this girl; she was hysterical.
Then, I thought, maybe I should be a counselor. Then, I thought, maybe not.
I would meet with this young girl and say, “Stop doing things to make your own life more complicated. Would you like to make an appointment to see me again next week?” She might expect more from her counselor.
There are literally thousands of things that you don’t do on purpose, that will make your life complicated. The same morning I saw hysterical, drunk gal, I swallowed cold coffee left on the counter from the day before. I’m pretty sure I swallowed a bug. We have these gross bugs in our house lately. They throw wild parties while we’re sleeping.
I am almost certain there was a bug in my coffee. I felt it. Now it’s in my stomach. You and I both know that bug has diseases that are now coursing through my veins, and will soon render me helpless to care for my family.
That’s what I was worrying about and planning for when I came across hysterical/drunk girl. I should have told that girl that if she wants a reason to walk sideways through town, sobbing her eyeballs out, try swallowing a bug. THAT is what you call a complication.
For sure missed my calling as a therapist. It’s too bad; I could have helped a lot of people.
On the way to church that morning I told my family about all of my adventures so far. It was a busy morning. I thought my family would be really surprised about a drunk girl at Walgreens at 6 in the morning. Turns out drunk people and bug swallowing aren’t even close to as shocking as squirrels mating in public. After all of my stories, the only thing Scott said was, “I’m just really surprised squirrels would do that.”
I have a friend who is renewing her vows. She and her husband have been married 19 years. Her husband is fighting cancer. This is going to be a sweet celebration.
This past weekend we had a “bachelorette” party for my friend. You want me to tell you a secret? I have only been to one bachlorette party before. I went to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party quite a few years ago. Possibly, one of the most fun nights of my life. My mother-in-law and sister-in-laws and me dancing the night away. I love my in-laws. I love dancing. That is a great memory.
That was my one and only bachelorette party experience. Scott and I got married kind of young. We were married in the era when you did your own hair and make up for your wedding. I had never heard of a bachelorette party back then. I think that weddings are a way bigger deal now.
I’m not sure if being married in a different era is why I didn’t get invited to any bachelorette parties, or if it’s because I’m not a good candidate for an invitation? When my friends think wild and crazy night on the town, I guess my name doesn’t exactly float to the top of the list.
My friends probably think, “Oh, we’ll just meet Miki for coffee the next morning.”
That’s cool. You guys are a bunch of snobs, but that’s okay. Because it really is your loss. I am TOTALLY fun. I’m wild AND crazy. I know how to parTAY. ALL.NIGHT.LOOONGGGG….
You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll have a Bible Study.
All of us 40 something/50 something friends of the “Bride” started talking about this bachelorette party. Some ideas were thrown out that (I won’t lie) scared me a little. I started thinking about what kind of illnesses I could expose myself to right before the party. I needed something that would knock me down just for a night. Not the bug swallowing thing either. That’s something I’m going to be dealing with for the rest of my life.
Turns out all of the “Bride’s” friends were fooling themselves. A lot of things you think are fun when you’re in your twenties, are also fun in your 40’s. Fun in theory.
Instead, we cruised around the lake all day in a luxurious pontoon boat. Ate dinner in front of a sunset. Laughed until our sides hurt. And, ended the night with a dance party by the fire. That is actually the same bachelorette party I would have planned for myself when I was in my 20’s. I guess I’ve always been old.
The dancing is always my favorite. Some people need alcohol to dance. I need music.
I think I left my friends speechless with my dance moves. I’ve kept my 80’s moves fresh and sharp. Those moves are always a requested attraction at our get-togethers. I kindly oblige. My friends are a little bit in awe. And, if we have to be honest, there’s probably a part of them that’s somewhat jealous too. They let their moves get rusty. They haven’t had the dedication I have, or put in the time. I can’t help that. I tell them, “You get out what you put in in, ladies. Champions aren’t made in a day.” They appreciate all that advice.
I asked Scott to help me do this move for our friends one night when we were at a campfire (Who does that crap stone cold sober? Me. I do.):
I’m not sure if it was Scott’s poor timing, or the fact that I have a more solid bone structure than “Baby”, making me slightly heavier; our move didn’t exactly turn out like what you see in the picture. Our, move turned out more like my forehead slamming Scott’s chest. I knocked him off balance, putting us pretty close to landing that move in the fire.
I think I might actually be more of a solo act.
Nobody puts Baby in the corner.