Apparently there’s a new trend among the golfing crowd, which involves setting the alarm to ring at precisely the crack of awful, and then hauling all of your clubs to the golf course shortly thereafter.
Thereafter meaning right after your mother makes you an English muffin breakfast sandwich, complete with a layer of scrambled eggs AND a layer of sausage.
And also cheese. Don’t forget the cheese.
Oh, people. Don’t think I slaved in the predawn hours over THAT breakfast. That’s what I pay Jimmy Dean for. He does the hard part of cooking it all up and packing it full of preservatives for a longer shelf life in the refrigerator, and I do the easy part, where I hit the COOK FOR ONE FULL MINUTE button on the microwave, so that I can exclaim, “Honey! I cooked you some breakfast!”
Those breakfast sandwiches won’t cook themselves. You’ve got to invest a little bit of effort into serving them.
So yes. With a full belly (Finally! The boy actually used the phrase, “I’m full!”), I hauled the boy clear across town so that he could meet his friend, Dugan, for an early morning tee time.
I’m not sure whether they were more excited about the golfing part, or the part where their mothers DROVE AWAY and let them be classified as UNATTENDED MINORS.
Naturally, I took a few snapshots of them as they teed off and embarked on their golfing adventure.
They were under strict instructions to use their best manners on the golf course, so that they weren’t reported to the clubhouse. They were also under strict orders to watch the time, so that they weren’t late for their golf class at 10:00 this morning.
Because I fully understand our boy’s ability to get so involved in the FUN that he forgets to glance at his wristwatch, I called Dugan’s cell phone at 9:45 to check on them.
(Because Dugan HAS a cell phone, whereas the boy does not. Sadly, the boy was given parents who are using their powers for evil by NOT purchasing him an iPhone of his very own, when EVERY! OTHER! KID! HIS! AGE! already has one.)
I would just like to insert the entire conversation that I had when I called the boys at 9:45 today, so that y’all can enjoy it.
“Hello? This is Dugan.”
“Yes, Dugan. It’s the boy’s mama. How was golfing today?”
“It was great!”
“Did you two have a good time?”
“Yes, ma’am! It was a ton of fun!”
“Are you guys watching the time? Did you realize that it’s 9:45, and that your lessons start in fifteen minutes?”
“Yes, ma’am. We were keeping an eye on the boy’s watch, and we’re just walking back to the clubhouse now.”
“Well, bravo! You two boys did a great job with your responsibility there. Can I talk to the boy for a minute?”
“Yes, ma’am, you sure can.”
There was some shuffling and the sound of clubs being stuffed into a golf bag, before my one and only child put the phone to his ear and said, “What up, Woman?”
I blame my baby daddy for this.
I will be signing the boy up for a class taught by Dugan, which is entitled Outstanding Manners Like They Have in the Deep South.
While the boys were golfing this morning, I met the girls (GROWN UP GIRLS!) at a swanky coffee house in the city, where we squeezed in around a Formica table and helped usher Nancy into another year of life over great cups of coffee and enormous cinnamon rolls and hot scones.
We laughed until my cheeks ached and I had a stitch in my side, and what I really wanted to share with Nancy is simply this: Aging is not for the weak. And also? An aging body does Very Weird Things.
I know this from experience, because yesterday, after spending some quality time on the treadmill, my shins began to cramp, until I had myself completely wrapped up in a full-blown attack of Shin Splints. Where on earth THIS came from is beyond me. My shins haven’t hurt like that since my junior year of high school, when I was playing co-ed soccer and fighting for a starting position against boys.
By bedtime last night, I was limping like a three-legged dog, as my shins felt like Puff the Magic Dragon had unleashed some fire on them. As I took my crippled self to bed, I told Hubs, “I think I’m giving the treadmill up for Lent this year, and I’m starting early.”
Hubs mumbled something about how my aging ailments turn our lives into an episode of The Golden Girls.
Hubs thinks he’s very funny.
This morning, around that Formica table, Nancy and I learned all about a show called Sister Wives, which neither of us has ever seen, but Amy and Carrie and Alyssa expounded on it in great detail, and told us how it sucks you in with its bizarreness. Apparently, it’s all about polygamy, and how one man has numerous wives, and all I could think was, “How would my life be different, if I had…say…three of Hubs?”
I think it goes without saying that I’d be self-medicating with caramel-filled bon-bons, while I ran a little lemonade stand on the side, to raise money to buy myself a second washer and dryer to keep up with the extra workload there. I’d also need to invest in a custom-made set of earplugs to block out all the Waylon Jennings blaring from all the iPads every morning.
I’d probably have to hit the COOK FOR ONE FULL MINUTE button on the microwave several times each morning.
Of course, we girls extended ourselves and talked about things OTHER THAN Sister Wives, too. For instance, we discussed the pros and cons of different nail technicians in town, and where a girl could get the very best manicure for the lowest amount of American dollars. We discussed the joys of raising girls and boys, and then we argued back and forth over whether Andy or Dwight will emerge as the next office manager, now that Michael Scott has moved on from The Office.
Our coffee time this morning was a precious thing, and then I limped home with Madam Shin Splints following after me.
That’s about the time that things got really exciting, as I did laundry! And scrubbed some toothpaste splatters off the bathroom sink! And loaded the dishwasher! And had just the most fun!
THEN we loaded up the cute neighbor boy, and we went to the carnival, AFTER A TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. At first we were quite excited, because the downpour was going to cool things off, so that, for the first time in the last century, the temperature wouldn’t be 108 degrees on the day that the carnival came to town.
And yes! Yes, the rain DID cool things down, but then the humidity went up to 412%, which sucked the oxygen out of your lungs, and THEN! THERE! WAS! THE! MUD!
Sweet mercy, I’ve never seen mud like that before in all of my years. Naturally, I have pictures, but y’all will have to wait until tomorrow night for the carnival update, as I have a ticket to a magic show that’s about to get underway in my family room.
I also have a lawn chair with my name on it. Also in my family room. I think I’m in the reserved seating section for the boy’s and the cute neighbor boy’s evening performance.
Happy Wednesday night, people.