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Dear Diary – Big Guy visited this weekend and it was so good to see him…and his 3 large loads of laundry. In exchange, he upgraded my cell phone plan, helped me measure a chair by the side of the road, and went shopping with me for a new Xbox controller.

He treated us to DQ and Tim’s; I trimmed his beard. Just not at the same time – who wants hair in their ice cream. Best of all, hugs! It’s been almost 4 months since he was down and this Mama’s well was dry!

Isn’t everybody twice my height?

Dear Diary – Whoops, I did it again!

I pulled stuff out of the freezer to get to the homemade donuts, and forgot to put it back in. Twenty-four things to be exact. I discovered the box of burgers beside the deep freeze less than 12 hours later. They were completely thawed but still cool, and I hate to throw out food. So what do you do with twenty-four 1/4 lb burgers you can’t refreeze? You grill 12 (2 at a time), you fry 5 and make spaghetti sauce, and you bake 7 in a meatloaf. Not the way I planned to spend my Sunday afternoon. Sunday dinner’s choices were beef, beef or beef!

Dear Diary – Rednecks, Hillbillies and Trailer Park Trash posted a chart with your “Cowboy Name” based on your birth month and date. My immediate family would be Camouflaged Chicken Chaser, Sunburned Chicken Chaser, and Slow Poke Chicken Chaser. They all have the same second name and I’m the odd man woman out. I was Lazy Creek Jumper. It seemed like an appropriate name for me. Why jump the creek when you can just take your shoes off and wade? Why risk breaking a sweat…or an ankle?

Dear Diary – I greatly dislike the priority status given to the “important” people who sit idling in drive-thrus because they’re too lazy precious busy to go inside. Once upon a time, the service inside was superior to that in drive-thrus, probably because human contact was an important aspect of customer service. That ceased pre-covid! On multiple occasions, I’ve had to become a “Karen”, bellowing loudly to ask if anyone was going to bother servicing service the front counter. Five heads by the drive-thru window stare at me blankly like deer in the headlights, because they don’t know what to do with a real live person. But I digress!

I’ve decided to become one of the slobs important people in the drive-thru after an unpleasant encounter with humankind, in the pharmacy, no less.

First, the automated service refused to renew my prescription, so I talked to the pharmacist and we agreed I should bring in my paper script. She promised to process it ASAP. While I waited, I browsed the paint spackle make-up aisle and I ended up purchasing tangerine nailpolish to add to the 17 bottles of nailpolish at home that I never wear. I’d forgotten how empowering a little shop bag in hand can be!

Feeling great, I lined up to pick up my prescription. There were a lot of people hanging around that corner of the store. Some were dropping off and picking up prescriptions; others waiting for theirs to be filled. Three people were waiting for covid test results. The store itself was warm and I started to feel light-headed and anxious, so I began chatting with the guy behind me. Just as I was explaining to the guy that I had been waiting awhile, another pushy broad with a mask half in place, started to push her way in front of me. I stared directly into her eyes and politely directed her to the back of the line. That interruption in conversation provoked the man to state that he knew his prescription was ready so he was next and he started to step in front of me too. Pushy broad piped up that hers was ready too and she also started to step in front of me. “Excuse me,” I said, “I’ve been waiting for my prescription and it should be ready too”. But no one was listening; they were too busy jostling for position. Then the guy started to elbow me and pushy broad out of the way, no local social or distanced, and shouting, “Mine’s ready. I’m next”.

In that split-second moment, I had to make a choice: fight or flight! As I’ve aged, I’ve noticed that my fight instinct has really gotten stronger, especially when I feel I have “right” on my side. Instead, I decided to hightail it out of there before fists starting flying, quite possibly mine. I did not want to end up on the evening news. So I announced, to no one in particular, that I was going to go to the drive-thru and I stormed off!

I was the only one in the line for the drive-thru. It was cool and calm; not a pushy broad in sight. Even better. The pharmacist asked if I was “Jenn” and said she’d been looking for me, wasn’t I just in line? I explained what happened and she apologized profused. “People are terrible,” she said. And I was in no mood to argue.

“Politeness is the art of choosing among your thoughts.”

Madame de Stael

Dear Diary – Big Guy tried to convince me that mice and rats could be cute pets. I say they’re only cute when they’re a cartoon in a chef’s hat. He tried to convince me that guinea pigs are rodents too. But he’s wrong. Guinea pigs are cavies, and cavies are cute. Even without the chef hat!

Dear Diary – It’s a small sign that life is returning to “normal”!

I’m not sure I’m ready for (or that I really want) life to return to normal, but Mom, a friend and I met to celebrate their August birthdays at a local tea room…patio! But that’s a story for Monday! 😉

Dear Diary – I went swimming today, if you can call it that. There was splashing and floating, but yaks splash and float too when you stick them in water. Since I was considering swimming again later in the day I wore my bikini…with a tank top because Little Guy is still an impressionable youth, and I didn’t want to leave him with the impression that his mother was a yak. I also knew that getting a wet swimsuit on this bod would be like trying to give a cat a bath: a painful, futile experience that would leave everyone wounded, winded, and worn out.

It was very refreshing, but I decided that it was too much effort to try it again in the same day.

Some women age gracefully and graciously. They use their wisdom, gained from experience, to brighten the world for others. They are comfortable in their own skin, fully embracing those changes too: graying hair, wrinkles, and extra padding.

I am not one of those women!

When I get old, I’m not going to be sitting around knitting. I’m going to be clicking my life alert button to see how many hot firefighters show up!

Shut Up! I’m Not Done Talking