It began as a typical Thursday morning; alarm clock went off, I show signs of life, and therefore the animal kingdom lingers and jumps around in anticipation knowing they will be fed only seconds from now.
I stumble to the kitchen and make a beeline for the coffee pot while my own anticipation surfaced for the morning goodness of freshly ground warm coffee about to reach my mouth. In doing so, I’m in the moment of gratitude and decide whomever invented this stuff is somewhat of a God.
As I’m sipping my decadence, I begin my morning routine; feeding animals, waking up the kids, and considering breakfast options. I glance over at the calendar to confirm the time of my primary care doctor’s appointment in a few hours and my son’s sports meeting later that evening while deciphering on the better dinner options.
Younger brother is going about his usual morning routine of ignoring my prompts to get out of bed. After my third prompt insinuating threats of missing the bus and having to walk the 5 miles to school, he peels himself begrudgingly out of bed whilst offering hateful glances. I choose to avoid taking notice, “Good morning buddy”, I state while trying to sound empathetic. He plops himself on the couch appearing miserably tired and wanting several more hours of uninterrupted snoozing.
Like usual, older brother has been awake way before me and jamming in his room to metal music and singing along. LOUD. Younger brother initiates protest – like every morning.

A few days earlier, our clothes dryer we bought brand new (17 years ago), had broken down. Long story short, a friend and I visited an appliance store to see if our dryer was worth the expense to get it repaired or bite the bullet and buy a new one. The appliance guy, Carl, er, “Crazy Carl”, who in retrospect appeared as though he has caused women to clutch their purses, offered to do it as a side job which offered 1/2 the service call price and he’d throw in the part. Sounds reasonable, right?
After showing up three hours late at our pending bedtime, and my husband and I playing a quick best out of three game of “Rock-Paper-Scissors”, my husband is chosen to open the door and turn him away. Hubby begins a presumable 30 minute rant on why on earth would I ever hire someone like that to come to our home. Although, Crazy Carl did call my husband the next day with apologies where my husband rescheduled him, and then Crazy Carl ended up with no-calling/no-showing. In the interim, clothes were washed and hung to dry on hangers, shower rods, towel racks, and even picture frames. Martha Stewart who? What?! What?!

So fast forward back to present day…

20 minutes before the boys get ready to leave, older brother announces his clothes are still damp and cold. I avoid the obvious question of asking why he decides to wait till now to tell me and instead think outside the box. I take his clothing into the bathroom, set the hair dryer on the highest and hottest setting, and go for it.
I will tell you, it is tedious. Boring. My ADD/OCD personality can not handle it. I am looking around my bathroom that I thought I just thoroughly cleaned the day before and begin decorating it in my mind. I eventually take particular notice of ceiling corners, blinds, light fixtures, wood cabinet, etc. , and for 20 minutes. I decide it is close to being readily condemned. My anxiety being in this room is accumulating.
Eventually I am redirected with, “Mom, are my clothes dry? I’ve got to leave!” I assess the articles of clothing are dry enough to avoid pneumonia and hand them over whilst making a mental note to attack my bathroom later.
My children leave for school after kisses goodbye, “I love you’s”, and my ignoring prominent smells of gigolo scented cologne. I calculate to myself the time of my appointment, the drive time, and hence what time I have left to get ready. Ok good. Plenty of time.

I pick up my girlfriend along the way to hang with me at my appointment. We gab on topics such as why nowadays people are so hesitant to tell someone “bless you” after a sneeze. We sing along to various types of music playing on the radio, and make plans on where to do lunch after my appointment. We head into the doctor’s office, check in, and wait. Seemingly FOREVER. We decide to checkout our social media sites on our phones while we wait in the very crowded waiting room of only 2 doctors.
In walks a woman. She is carrying a portable concentrator oxygen machine, checks in, and sits down near us. I smile at her in the form of a greeting. She reciprocates.
I look around the room to observe the various people; this includes one elderly woman who spilled coffee all over herself while attempting to fill out paperwork. In doing so, she appears to cause a further scene by dropping an F-bomb and damning God. My girlfriend and I look at one another in amusement.
We continue to wait and just so happen to tell another waiting patient “bless you” when she sneezes. The patient acknowledges with gratitude and joins us in our continuum of our previous conversation about why the expression is so hesitantly used these days. We continue on with various other topics of discussion with the patient and my girlfriend nonchalantly brings up a current events topic about how someone had broken into a popular chicken farm in California and bludgeoned several hundred chickens. Suddenly, the lady with the oxygen machine screams out how F’d-up my friend is and that it is a horrible thing for her to say.
To describe my friend, she is sarcastic. A wiseass. She is also very quick to spew out what is on her mind. And, it can sometimes be embarrassing. I actually have had reservations of acknowledging our friendship in public places. But it’s also part of her charm. So I accept it. For the most part.
My friend, appearing surprised as I was at the outburst, looks at the lady and says, “Excuse me?!? I didn’t bludgeon them?!” I grab my friend’s arm to indicate she needs to remain calm and hold back. The lady continues to indicate her disapproval and begins to cry. No. SOBS. And relates her sympathy for “Those poor, poor chickens, God in heaven please look after their little souls.”
My friend leans in over to me and asks, “Should I tell her they were intended to be put on people’s dinner tables anyway?” I barely head out of the office before busting out in hysterical laughter.

As I am working to contain myself in the hallway while telling myself I’m headed for hell if I don’t stop, a gentleman with dark sunglasses walks past me with a seemingly odd and quizzical expression. Understandably so. He heads into the same office.
After feeling I am able to better contain myself and hoping Karma doesn’t bite me in the ass, I head back in to the office. I am then told “Chicken Lady” , as my friend now refers to her, has already been called back. Before me. I am okay with that and figured the consensus of the office personnel was to get her in and get her out. To me, that would be the best logic.
I take notice that “Dark Sunglasses Man” is sitting close by. Quietly, I naively relate to my friend the little happening in the hallway with him.
My friend looks at me in amusement. I give her a “Don’t you dare start again” stare and immediately feel regretful. This appears to amuse her further as evidenced by her sly grin. Still, for the next several minutes, she has good behavior. Until, I sneeze.
“Bless you”, she tells me in her most sincerest and best “dolly like” voice. This is my undoing and I go into snorts and giggles again. Dark Sunglasses Man moves toward the opposite end of the room. I offer a “See what you made me do??” glance. My friend appears quite accomplished knowing I despise bringing such attention to myself. I declare my hatred for her. This seems to please her further where she proclaims, “You could never, I’m simply too delightful.” She is smug, “Who else could make you laugh like me?”

In truth? Not many. But I still hate her.  🙂