Friday, January 21, 2011


Was out shopping, stopping by the Winn-Dixie because when you buy two bottles of Ocean Spray, you can get a free 5# bag of grapefruits. I am a shameless sucker for free stuff. Really, I will trample old people for a buy one/get one free sale.

So I'm dragging two cranky kids who've just spent 70 minutes watching me dither and match coupons -- a whole $1.50 off Dog Chow! -- and pick out just the right kitty treats for the new kitty. I've promised them this is the last stop, but they're busy pegging old Happy Meal toys that they found under the back seat at each others heads. I also have a headache, because today I finally did my taxes (which for the self-employed is a pain in the ass -- and besides me and the maths aren't really on speaking terms.)

So I'm stepping out of the car, trying avoid a flying Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Wind-Up Blu, when the cell phone rings. You know what's scary? When you answer the phone, and your 21-year-old son says, "Mom, I don't want you to freak out or anything, but...."  Seriously, for somebody with an imagination like mine, that just digs an absolute pit full of frightening possibilities. Car wreck? Girlfriend pregnant? House burning down? Zombie attack? Perhaps the new cat IS an alien interloper and has taken hostages?

So, how does kid #1 finish the sentence? Any guesses?

"...but Peter Forsberg is practicing with the Avalanche."

OMG. That is so much better than a zombie attack. Feeling faint, I sit back down in the car. I need a moment. See, if I had to choose between world peace and Forsberg returning to the Avs? Well, let's just say it's a good thing I don't have to make those kind of decisions.

Really. OMG. These are the times when I wish I had a belief in a specific all-powerful deity who might be open to negotiations, because I would so be making ridiculously unrealistic promises right about now.   

1 comment:

  1. Oh, yeah. And 'When you're done with that, I've got some bad news for you', and 'We have to talk'. And then it takes them five minutes to get to the point because the ACTUAL problem was that you need to go pick up some cheese because the last pack went moldy, so they didn't think there was any reason to hurry up telling you. And it's all you can do not to scream 'JUST TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG ALREADY!'

    Do you think that's because we're all imaginy types, then? I dunno. I figured it was part and parcel of being a habitual worrier.