Deck and Amy and the Run-In

Dinner was taking place at the one restaurant in town that did not rely on loud 90s alt-rock to create an atmosphere.  As sad as Deck was to not eat a hamburger to the charming tones of Matchbox 20, he was more than pleased to actually hear what Amy was trying to tell him.

“I still can’t believe Carmichael tried to pull that crap at work,” Amy said before taking a bite of pilaf.

“I think you should probably key his car,” Deck said.

“I can’t key his ca- Wait! Oh crap,” Amy finished her bite and stared over Deck’s shoulder.  “The couple that just walked in. I used to work with him.”

Deck looked over his shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of the entry way where he presumed the subject of Amy’s statement stood.

“Don’t look, you big dummy,” Amy instructed. “What do I do? We worked in the same general area for three years. I haven’t even kept in Facebook contact though. Do I wave? Do the fake ‘Oh my god! Jerry?!” greeting on our way out?”

Deck started to offer advice. “You could-” he didn’t get very far.

“This is weird. I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who kept stealing pens too.  Should I bring that up?” Amy wondered.

“Probably good to avoid accusations of petty crime at a fish restaurant,” Deck said as he devoured a crab stuffed mushroom.

“No. Nope, you know what, we’re leaving. I’ll get boxes, we’ll go home and watch Princess Bride and never speak of this moment again,” Amy plotted.

“I know you’re freaking out right now and the newness of this type of social interaction is making you nervous, but that plan sounds awesome so I’m going to go along with it,” Deck said.

The waiter was flagged down and take-away boxes were filled.  A quick drive and a few minutes later, an ROUS was pouncing a pirate and Deck and Amy finished their meals in their pajamas on a couch.

“This was the right call,” Deck said.

Amy grimaced.  A fork in one hand, her phone in the other, she screamed a little as she read her screen.  “Another former coworker just commented on a post from Jerry, from the restaurant earlier,” Amy started.

“I do remember Jerry, yes,” Deck said.

“Jerry posted ‘Just saw an old coworker. Decided to hide instead of talk to her. Forgot her name. Think she recognized me too. #Awkward’ How could he forget my name? Jerry’s not a nice person. I’m going to comment.” Amy said.

“Now would be a good time to bring up the pen thing,” Deck said.

“Oh! That’ll cut deep too.  Nice one, sweetie,” Amy started typing.

 

 

 

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Useful Greeting Cards (For Bad Adulting)

When it comes to greeting cards, I’m pretty sure sympathy and birthday are leading types.  I’m not about to do market research, but if the Family Feud ever surveyed 100 people, put the top five responses on the board and had contestant guess the remaining three it would take a few rounds to fill the board.  To me, that means the market is wide open for more specialized occasions where one might not be able to come up with the right words.

Cards for occasions like… Continue reading

The Difference is Subtle

Saturday, 5:57am.  

“You’re up early, big guy,” Steve greeted his son with a whisper.  “Let’s change you and go downstairs.  We’re going to be quiet though so your mommy can sleep, okay?”

“Yeah,” Daxon answered with a head nod.

The two were as quiet as could be.  Steps downstairs were plotted to take place on the least creaky of the floor board.  Light switches were flipped slowly to avoid a thundering click if switched too fast.  Once downstairs, morning cartoons ran with sound just barely audible.  Steve smiled as he held his son close, knowing his beloved wife was resting soundly upstairs.

Sunday, 6:15am.

“Daxon,” Beata shouted, “you are up so early, man. Let’s brush your teeth and get breakfast ready. Okay? It’ll be a nice treat for daddy. We’ll let him sleep in a bit.”

“Yeah!” Daxon said, clapping with joy.

Beata and Daxon ran the tap at full volume to prepare their toothbrushes.  Pots were clattered and clanged as breakfast prep began.  Daxon raced back and forth from stove to pantry getting supplies requested at full shout from Beata.

“Heya, babe, you can keep sleeping. Daxon and I got this,” Beata said as Steve lumbered into the kitchen.

“Nah, nah, I think I’m good.  It’s 6:18 in the morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep if I wanted to,” Steve answered, his eyes puffy from a fatigue that would long after Daxon moved out of the house.

 

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Marcia Hears a Pun

Marcia set down her book as her apparently over stimulated husband came running into the house.

“Sweetie! I’ve got it! Our next adventure.  We’re going to open an Aztec themed mini-golf course called Golf of Mexico! Get it! The business plan really writes itself from there!” Ted said.  He was breathless and held his hands on his hips in an attempt to calm his hurting back.

Marcia looked him up and down.  Socks and sandals covered his feet. A wide brimmed, bright orange, water proof hat sat atop his head. His paisley patterned ‘work shirt’ was inexplicably covered in grass clippings.  How clipped grass flew from the mower blade to Ted’s shoulders, Marcia would never understand, but it was now a common Saturday morning sight.

She smiled a wry smile and locked eyes with the person she opted to spend eternity with.  “So should I tell your dad you’ve taken his personality and he will spend the rest of his days in the Body Snatchers pod or will you?” She asked, laughing.

“I’ll do it. He’d do the same,” Ted said, pulling out cell phone.

“I’ll go make you an Arnold Palmer for the cellular phone call there, champ,” Marcia said, jokingly slapping Ted’s shoulder on her way to get drinks.

“That actually sounds delicious. Thank you,” Ted said.

“Of course it does, dear. Of course it does,” Marcia laughed.

Climbing the Stairway to Nopesvilles

Another birthday approaches and with that comes my annual tradition of self reflection.  It’s a practice that developed long ago and has yet to pay off, but still with the start of another year I like to ponder who I am and what brought me to this time and place.

This year, I’m reflecting on inexplicable neurosis that my children will one day discuss with their own therapists. Continue reading

Walter’s Late Night

“Walter! Get up and going, man!” Rafi said.

Walter did not move.  He grumbled and ignored his friend’s pleas.

“Dude, we’ve got stuff to do today!” Rafi pushed.

Walter responded with yet another grumble at first, but much to his surprise, found himself capable of speech as well.  “Rafi, buddy, I was up until 1:00am on Friday,” Walter explained.

“It’s Sunday morning,” Rafi pointed out.

“Here’s the thing, kiddo;  1:00am for old folk like me is equivalent to being awake for a week straight.  It will be Tuesday before I feel like myself again.”  Walter tried with all his might to stand up, but failed.

“Being old sounds awful.” Rafi said.

“It isn’t that bad.  The trade off is ice cream breakfasts and TV binge watching.”  Walter said, finally standing up.  His joints popped and cracked and he grumbled some more.  “It’s a worthwhile trade off, young one, really.”

Waylan Used to be Cool

On Saturday, Waylan and the family piled into their car and made a stop at the local home improvement store.  There was a project to be done!  The project required cement; bags and bags of ‘just add water’ cement.  Four bags, 50 pounds each, lifted from the floor to a flat bed cart.  Up six inches, over 12.  The lifting should not have been a problem. It was.

Waylan wrenched his back after picking up the third bag.   Continue reading