Before I begin telling you about my riveting weekend, does anyone else feel like it's the middle of the night? WE AREN'T FARMERS.
WE.ARE.FARMERS. Dun da dun dun dundundun.
Stupid daylight savings. Isn't there some pigheaded state, like Arizona, that just says nope. We're not gonna acknowledge daylight savings? Isn't there? I'm going there. Unless it's somewhere extra-cold, like Maine or North Dakota.
Anyway, hi. Hi, readers in Arizona, Maine and North Dakota. Does everyone from Maine have a Maine Coon cat? I'd love a Maine Coon. I think my beloved cat, Mr. Horkheimer, who died almost as many years ago as the number of years I had him, had Maine Coon in him. He was big big big and low to the ground and also unflappable.
(Faithful longtime readers will fall over dead seeing kitten Francis, before he got all evil.)
Did you know when the Beatles played on Ed Sullivan and all the teenagers lost their minds and so on, did you know the time from World War I to the date of that show was LESS time than the time from that show to the present? Ned told me that.
And this is what having me post on the first day of daylight savings does to you. It gets you from the Farmers Insurance jingle to Ed Sullivan to my dead cat in the first 14 seconds.
So. Anyway. It's the middle of the night, and I don't know where I get off feeling tired, as pretty much all Ned and I did all weekend was sleep. He caught some stupid cold from his work, and was sick all last weekend, and we were looking forward to this weekend when we could finally get out and have some fun. We'd made tentative plans, and the weather was gonna be beautiful despite the giant ice storm we just had.
And then? BOOM. I got the cold, and Ned had to go buy me boxes of Kleenex and cans of soup and 45 cartons of orange juice, which by the way have tons of Weight Watchers points, and Dear Weight Watchers: Eat me.
On Saturday, I slept all afternoon, on a sunny, warm day, and is there anything more depressing than having to sleep through the first nice day of the year? It reminded me of when I was a kid and I had to go to bed before the sun set. Oh, I felt like a tortured princess who'd been banished to a tower. Once when I was sent to bed like that, I vowed to never smile again. And I never have.
My point is, at about 4:00, I called Ned. "I can't lie here in misery any longer. Wanna go get ice cream?"
"Okay," said Ned. "Let me go for a run first."
Dudes. I mean, he'd been feeling better, but he would still double over with the coughing, and a run didn't sound to me like the best idea, but who am I to judge. I was proposing we have ice cream for dinner, so.
Two hours later, I still hadn't heard from Ned. "Where are you?" I asked when I called.
In the tiniest voice possible, Ned said, "I ran, and now I have no energy at all. But I'm on my way."
You've never seen two people command a Baskin Robbins the way Ned and I did when we shuffled on in there. We had the energy of two suns, is what we did. Oh, we were pathetic. We couldn't have even warmed up your Easy-Bake Oven cake, so devoid of any energy were we.
"I'll have chocolate chip," murmured Ned, as he lay his head on the table. I had jamoca almond fudge, because who wouldn't get that if it were there. Happy Ned enjoyed some ennui and body aches after.
We took our party-mood selves to the grocery store after, where he got blueberries and I got deodorant, and we were in the slowest line ever formed in the history of time. New people came and went and were born and died in the other lines, while our checkout girl, who was new, looked up every.single.piece.of.produce that people were buying. Sometimes I feel like I should just carry a hot poker to stick up the asses of those who irk me.
After 17 hours of sleep, I got up Sunday and got a pedicure. I have my priorities. The guy who did my nails asked, "You ride horses?" I looked down, and my jeans were covered--covered!--in mud thanks to the melting ice, warm temperatures and dogs. I hadn't noticed I looked that way when I went in there, although how it hadn't occurred to me I might be muddy is beyond me, seeing as both dogs had come inside that morning with mud saddles on. Edsel's face was so covered in mud I thought he was rehearsing for a minstrel show.
I'd lifted BOTH dogs into the bathtub to hose them off. So really, why did I think I'd look pristine when I got to Elegant Nail & Tan?
Fortunately, they know me pretty well there and forgave my down-to-earth-literally exterior. The woman who does my eyebrows, in fact, was so eager to tell me about the huge bitch that had been in there earlier, insisting for THE THIRD TIME that she be allowed to use her American Express card even though they don't TAKE American Express.
"Life too short," said my eyebrow waxer, as she gleefully ripped wax off my eyelid.
When I left, with Princesses Rule toenails and newly shorn brows, I walked in my mud jeans to my car. I saw three men getting a guitar out of a car, and I saw that one of them was looking at me. When I got to my car, the man was standing at his car, right next to mine, with said guitar. "I just traded a beer for this guitar!" he told me.
"Well, THAT seems like a good deal!" I said, climbing in gingerly, lest I destroy Princesses Rule.
"I'm Ted," he said, extending his hand. We talked a bit about his band and where he plays. "Come inside and have a drink with me," he said.
I declined, of course, because I love me some Ned and his cold germs, but also? Beyond the fact that this man was drinking at 3 o'clock in the afternoon on a beautiful day (and not even drinking outside!) (that I could get behind, maybe), but also?
No.more.men.with.guitars. That is my rule. No more men with guitars ever again. I mean, other than Barry Gibb.
The point of my story is I've still got it, even with mud on m'pants. And that, folks, is what matters.
Dirtily,
June
