Rules for Shopping

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Oh yes, I now own these puppies...Ransacking my closet the other day for a suitable outfit to wear to a meeting with a client that wouldn't leave me melting in 85 degree heat, I noticed that for the past 10 years of my life I have apparently bought nothing but sleeveless blouses. I also pulled out swimsuits I'd purchased around approximately the same time Madonna burst onto the music scene. In light of an upcoming beach trip in July with my best friend, it became apparent I needed to do a bit of shopping.

I'm not a shopper. Shopping makes my little linear brain hurt. Too many choices, too many chances to make a bad decision, plus I believe everything the store clerks tell me. (It never occurs to me to ask if they work on commission when they assure me the purple rhinestone pants are all the rage and when paired with a blazer, entirely appropriate as office wear.)

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Here's How It Went Down...

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Nothing to see here. Move along. The e-mail came through this morning: I can make egg drop for you today. Meet at car dealer 2:30; I give you egg – 2 dozen.

I instantly sent my reply: The fuzz may have me followed. If we need to abort, I will send you a text message with code words CRACKED EGG. 

At 2:30 I glided my car alongside a parked SUV, motors running. 

"You got the cash?"

"Right here. You got the goods?"

There was a quick exchange through the car windows, a furtive glance to see who may have been watching, then we each slid our windows up and pulled away.

Drug deal in Madison? Nah, just me buying some local farm fresh eggs from a friend. 

But I'd still prefer the fuzz didn't hear about it.

Cheers,

Dena

 

The Life & Times of Albert The Bug

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Police sketch of AlbertYesterday afternoon, I noticed a small, flat-backed, gray-brown bug near the top of the kitchen sink.

"Bug," I said to Blair, pointing at it. (This is marital code for: "Deal with it.")

"That's Albert," said Blair. (Marital code for: "It's just a bug and I'm trying to make a sandwich and if it bothers you so much, you deal with it.")

I didn't want to deal with it, so Albert stayed. His presence quickly grew on us. About an hour later, I went to put a glass in the sink and noticed Albert had shifted position about a foot to the left.

"Hi, Albert," I said. I heard Blair offer a similar greeting when he returned to the kitchen for a snack. 

Early evening, I go into the kitchen to make dinner. As I'm pouring steaming hot pasta water into the colander to drain the spaghetti, I see Albert perilously close to where the water is splashing up in the sink.

"Albert, look out!" I cried.  

We were cleaning dishes up from dinner when I asked Blair what he thought Albert ate.

"I don't know that we need to carry it that far," he said. 

Huh. In my book, if you name something, it's a pet for life and now you're responsible for it.

Which is why I'm sad to announce that Albert has disappeared. He was nowhere to be found this morning. Maybe we just didn't love him enough. Maybe he was bored. Or hungry.

Or maybe he was just a bug. But he was a good bug. Our bug.

We miss you, Albert. 

Holiday Spirit Alive & Well At The Post Office

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This morning I had a choice: Wait around the house an extra 40 minutes until my local post office opened, or go ahead with my plans to drive into Greensboro and hit the post office in a busy commercial shopping center before I set up camp at my favorite Panera. God help me, I chose Option B.

My first goof was thinking the Post Office opened at 8:30. Nope, its 9 AM. My second goof was arriving at the Post Office at ten till 9, instead of 3 AM, as that's apparently what time people started showing up, based on the already-formed line that greeted me when I arrived. 

Too bad for me. I had a package that HAD to go out today. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and marched to my place at the back of the line...

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