Monday, March 12, 2012

How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?

Being the main contributor to this blog has its perks—perhaps the one most commonly mentioned by my husband (and a few other family members) is that the blog, while abounding in ridiculous stories of others, is severely lacking in ridiculous stories about myself.

The role of blogger is one of omniscient hindsight.

Most everything I write about has already happened. I know what details of our experience I have found too intimate to expound upon. I know exactly how much I can say without embarrassing myself. I can laugh at our mistakes because I usually only share things that don't bother me to share (otherwise I probably wouldn't share them). But sometimes I forget that perhaps That Funny Thing My Husband Did might actually be freshly awkward and embarrassing for him. He is a dear, though, and takes everything in stride.

But why am I talking about him? He saw the first line of this post and said, "That's going to be about me, isn't it?" and then typed a bunch of random numbers to throw off my train of thought. I assured him this blog post would be about me. And it is.

It's a freshly awkward and slightly embarrassing tale about me and you are welcome to enjoy it (and laugh at me, if necessary). Be forewarned, my fifteen-year-old niece claimed to almost have wet her pants when she heard this story. It's just that good.

And now, without further ado...The Story.

As you may or may not know, we went to the park today. Rachel knows her way to the park and will often run ahead to relish that sense of freedom you get from being out of the reach of your mother's ever-loving arms (or for some reason I'm unaware of). She's allowed to cross a few streets along the way all by herself, barring the main road. She's typically pretty good about remembering to look both ways before crossing since she's terrified of being hit by a car (living in Egypt will do that to you).

So, we were on our way home from the park and Rachel had just raced ahead of me in order to cross the street independently.

"Hey! Good looking!" I yelled out to her, since she had remembered to look both ways and all.

Why I chose that exact moment to praise her is beyond me because when I reached the corner a few seconds later and looked both ways I noticed that there was a guy standing on the sidewalk opposite of us (it was a T-intersection so he was on the sidewalk across the street beside us, not on the sidewalk Rachel had just crossed to) and he was staring at me quite quizzically.

No, sir. Not you. I was talking to my daughter.

I didn't really want to explain the whole situation though so I did the only thing I could do: blush...and just keep walking. Because "when life gets you down do you wanna know what you've gotta do? ... Just keep [walking]. Just keep [walking]. Just keep [walking, walking, walking]. What do we do? We [walk, walk]."

Thank you, Dory, for helping me know what to do.

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