The indomitable and I were in the Target check out line at 9:50 tonight. Ahead of us were four teenage boys buying a single package of eggs and nothing else. Somehow I don’t think they were going to make omelets.
A few days ago I was feeling on my belly, and I could feel a body part, either a back or a butt. So I had the indomitable press on it, and he felt her too. After a few minutes of rubbing on the butt/back, he said, “Is it okay to do this? We’re not going to put hand prints in her skull or anything?” After I reassured him that it was okay, he said, “If we did, we’d have to name her Thumbelina.”
This morning I used my last check when I reimbursed our handyman/contractor/best man, Edward, for some of the supplies he bought at Home Depot for our bathroom remodel. Afterward, I sat down with my laptop to order some more checks. I rarely write checks so I usually splurge and get pretty personalized ones since a box lasts me over two years. Check options have really changed since I was a kid and carried my mom’s standard issue blue check to school to buy lunch tickets every Monday. Here’s a few choices that I opted not to get:
Creepy Alan Jackson checks. He’s looking longing into your eyes and whispering, “Oh baby, I love it when you wear that fade black shirt from my 1994 tour. How about picking up an extra copy of my greatest hits album to keep in the Firebird? Walmart still sells it on tape.”
This style is called “Gothlings.” I just don’t see this as a hot seller. All the goth kids I know are under the age of 18 and still financially dependent on their parents. Plus, as a former retail worker, I would question if there is adequate funds in the account of someone who paints their fingernails with sharpies and wears a dog collar.
I don’t think I need to say anything here.
This one would definitely keep you on the straight and narrow when it comes to spending. Buying soft porn would definitely be out, or at least it would encourage you to use your debit card when buying something at Hustler Hollywood.
For the next few days, I’ll be attending the Parkinson’s Action Network’s Annual Forum. The indomitable stayed behind in Nashville in order to save money. It’s my first night here, and I’m hungry. Unfortunately, the only friend I’ve kept up with over the past year could not attend. That leaves me in a dilemma-dining alone. I was a champ at being a single diner during my early twenties. I always ate at the bar and befriended the bartenders. Tonight, not wanting to venture onto an unknown street at dusk in our nation’s capital, I decide to muster up some of my old skill at the hotel bar. Of course, when I sit down, I realize the bartender would probably be annoyed by me taking a vacancy at his bar. After all, I can’t drink. I just order water.
I look over the menu. It’s a typical over priced menu, and I’m not feeling comfortable with spending $30 on dinner. I chose the Avocado and Tomato salad for $9. I think it’s going to be small considering it’s price point, but I’m trying to put healthy food in my body so the hamburger and fries is out. Something about feeling my baby kick makes me want to consume nutritious foods. The salad comes, and it’s tiny. Two horizontally cut slices of tomato and four avocado slivers, topped with onions, red peppers, and cilantro. With the exception of the size, it’s quite tasty.
I try to play it cool. With my prenatal acne, I look about 20 years old so playing it cool is essential. I delicately cut my tomato, using my best table manners. I slice the wheat roll that accompanies my salad and slather a tiny bit of butter on each sizes. I deny my usual habit of tearing the bread into smaller pieces and just bite it. For a small salad, I manage to drag out the process of eating it. I really want to prove that I’m a lady and that I belong in this fancy Washington, DC hotel, even if I’m wearing baggy pants and a pink t-shirt.
When I finish, I ask for changes. My dinner was only $9.90, and all I have is a $20. The preoccupied bartender is not get a $10 tip from me. I could have ordered a much bigger meal for that money. He gets the change as I continue to play it cool. I sip on my ice water, which is mostly ice at this time. I tilt my head back to get the final drops. Then the ice shifts, and I completely cover my face, my shirt’s sleeve, and the bar with water.
I quickly leave the bar, walking past people I recognize. I’m literally too cool to talk to them.