I don’t know why I’m even bothering to write a blog post tonight, because the amount of things that I have to actually write about could fit inside of a thimble.
(A thimble. Yes. It’s a sewing term, and I’m someone that Betsy Ross would have taken one look at and declared, “Well, bless her heart. She can’t sew a simple, rectangular flag or anything.” I stapled the hem of a skirt in college once, so I did alright.)
The main event of today was that I had a pedicure first thing this morning, and my toenails are now a sassy shade of Ruby Red Shoes. They’re every single bit as sparkly red as Dorothy’s high heels were, and terribly festive for the Christmas season. It’s almost a shame that we have a foot of snow on the ground, which sort of declares this the NON-FLIP-FLOP SEASON, because my toenails kind of command some attention right now.
Actually, the pedicure wasn’t the MAIN EVENT of today, because that came when it was time to hand over real, American dollars to the little cowgirl nail tech who held up the Ruby Red Shoes bottle and declared that it would forever change my life for the better.
I couldn’t find my checkbook.
As in, my checkbook had gone AWOL.
And I’m sure that y’all are screaming out, “Checkbook?!!” in a way that comes with two entire exclamation points after the question mark, because WHO even still has paper checks these days?
What is this? 1984?
Speaking of which… as long as we’re on the subject of 1984… listen. Jake Ryan apparently turned 53 years old yesterday, which stunned me, because Hubs and I just watched him win Samantha Baker’s heart AGAIN a couple of weekends ago on TBS, and he was still looking rather dapper and driving his red Porsche.
Hubs and I seldom agree on movies or TV shows, because The Lord of the Rings and Moonshiners make me want to light my eyelashes on fire, to transfer the mental pain to something physical, but we DO agree on Sixteen Candles. If it’s playing again on TV, we will both stop everything, because JAKE RYAN! And SAMANTHA BAKER! And LONG DUCK DONG!
And… HOW IS JAKE RYAN FIFTY-THREE ALREADY? When did he grow up and get so old? And does that mean that these T-shirts should now be used as garage rags to change your Suburban’s oil with?
(Have y’all ever noticed that sometimes I take the fork in the road that heads to Tangent City, and I don’t come back for a while?)
My checkbook holds my checks, which I write FOUR OF A MONTH, and ALL of my credit cards. Not just SOME of them, or even A FEW of them. It holds EVERY CREDIT CARD I OWN, and my driver’s license, and a Starbucks gift card. Obviously, I usually try to keep my eyes on that checkbook like I keep my eyes on my boys when we’re crossing busy freeways together on foot.
And today… it was gone.
Which led to me cleaning out the Suburban in a frantic search for it. Which led to me finding a lone Nike sneaker that Enzo lost in my Suburban two months ago, and which he BELIEVED he’d lost at the local gym. How it came to be in MY Suburban is anyone’s guess, but listen: It’s found now. I then ripped my entire house apart, looking for my checkbook, and I wasn’t overly mindful of actually putting things back. I emptied drawers and cupboards, because I was convinced that Thing 2 must’ve grabbed it out of my purse and tucked it away in a secret spot for me.
And then I decided that I must’ve left it in the shopping cart at the grocery store on Tuesday night, which meant that some hoodlum was probably celebrating the holiday sales at a Best Buy somewhere with it.
I spent the morning on the phone with the grocery store (They didn’t have it in the lost and found box.), and with my credit card companies, who clearly no longer employ REAL HUMAN BEINGS, because I was never allowed to speak with one. But… my credit card balances, as stated in the robotic version of a human’s voice, all sounded like, YES… THAT’S WHAT I SPENT AT TARGET LAST MONTH, BUT LET’S GIVE A LOWER BALLPARK FIGURE TO HUBS, so I decided that maybe they hadn’t been stolen after all.
Four hours later, I found my checkbook zipped up inside of Thing 2’s diaper bag. Well… OBVIOUSLY. Because I’ve put the checkbook into the diaper bag exactly NEVER TIMES BEFORE.
There was much rejoicing, because DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT TAKES TO REPLACE A DRIVER’S LICENSE THESE DAYS?! A birth certificate, a Social Security Card, a marriage license, your 2nd grade report card, the feathers from a live rooster, and a half-ounce of Pixie Dust.
And THAT is pretty much how I spent my day.
Then Hubs’ sister brought over salted caramels that were dipped in milk chocolate, and they have forever changed my life.
Exactly like the Ruby Red Slippers did for me this morning. Even though we’re sitting at semi-frigid temperatures right now, if you just ASK, I would be more than happy to kick my socks off and show you my sassy toes. Holding out a naked foot in this weather would probably scare Texans into a stroke, but we’re made of tougher stuff here in Small Town, USA.
Have a fantastic weekend, y’all.