I Actually Met Skippyjon Jones Today

Early this morning, Carrie sent me an email.  It said, “I have already started my day with a Starbucks chai.”

Well then.

That was like having someone shove me, face first, into a mud puddle, because at that point, my day was completely lacking a grande, no-water, non-fat chai latte, no whip, please and thank-you. At 7:45 this morning, I whipped a responsive email back to Carrie which said, “Jesus doesn’t appreciate bragging, and I am meeting the girls at Starbucks at oh-eight-thirty.”

Oh-eight-thirty is how the Navy SEALs say things.

The unfortunate problem comes in when the SEALs tell me to meet them for a covert operation and rescue mission at twenty-two hundred hours.  I have no idea what time THAT even is.  I can only do MORNING times, unless I get out my fingers and try to count backwards from midnight, which creates nineteen different kinds of unnecessary grief for me.

Also?

I don’t meet up with the SEALs for undercover missions, because of different reasons.

1.  They get up entirely too early.  If it’s still dark outside, it’s too early.  I am not dropping out of a helicopter and swimming through the ocean in the pre-dawn, middle-of-the-night hours, especially after I’ve taken a Zyrtec before bed the night before and am suffering the drug-induced sleep haze that only a decent allergy pill can bring on.

2.  They smear black warpaint on their faces.  I worry that this can clog pores and cause blemishes, so I can’t be on the team.  Proactiv Solution’s favorite clients are probably SEALs who have just returned from missions  involving face painting.

3.  They carry heavy backpacks.  I’m the one who whines about having to haul four bags of groceries inside from the Suburban.  I’m not willingly going to carry a hundred pounds of explosives in a backpack that will detonate and kill me when I trip on a rock and fall down.

4.  And we all know that it would be ME who tripped on the rock and fell while I was wearing my North Face backpack full of C-4.

No matter.

At oh-eight-thirty this morning, I was sitting in Starbucks with the hot beverage situation fully under control, when my five-year-old nephew, K, walked in.

His outfit choice for today pushed my joy beyond all boundaries.  Honestly, nothing could have made me happier today than his smiling face.

And his ears.

Only when you are five can you show up at the local coffee house wearing your Skippyjon Jones ears and tell everyone that you’re a chihuahua with the Los Chimichangos gang and STILL get the ladies to pose for a picture with you.

It’s because the ladies adore Skippito, especially when he rescues everyone’s frijoles from the Bandito.

I’d like to see the SEALs pull that mission off before dawn.

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