Shopping Together is Not a Good Idea

My husband and I cannot shop together. It always ends in tears and yelling, and that's just HIM. I finally got him to admit that he actually DOES like to shop. I do not. That is, to say, I don't like to walk around stores, endlessly, hemming and hawing, and weighing pros and cons, etc. I know what I want. I go in and get it. Scott likes to "think about it". He likes to peruse. He likes to compare. He likes to go to another store, see what they've got, then go BACK to the first store, before he can make up his mind.

Once, while he was shopping for suits, I almost hung myself with some silk ties I knotted together, but didn't, because I figured they'd make us pay for them. My friend, Robin, says that "Scott is a turtle, and you're a hare", and it's never more evident than when we're shopping.

In Costco once, we decided that we could each pick out one item for ourselves, as a little treat. We had a lot of shopping to do that day, and realized that we needed a second cart. Our son was still in a stroller, so Scott had put a few items on said stroller, and transferred those items to the second cart (or so I thought). We get done with this marathon shopping, and we're at the front of the store with two carts, and he announces that he is now ready to "look for his treat". What? You weren't looking as we were traversing the entire warehouse? I bit my tongue, and said, nicely "FINE. I'll be right here waiting, Darling".

Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty minutes. I'm getting annoyed. I try to call him on his cell phone, but no answer. As I'm scanning the store, I see him, with the stroller, going up and down aisles, and it looks like he's looking for me. Why would he be looking for me? I was standing at the front of the store, with two carts. Where am I gonna go? PLUS, I've told him numerous times.......if we get separated in a store, head for the checkout. It's the equivalent of "hugging a tree", if you get lost in the woods.

Anyhoo, he's not coming, so I decide to go ahead and start checking out. I get completely through the checkout, and am standing, waiting....... and there he is! Hi Scott! Um, where have you been? He's annoyed, because I've already checked out, and he has his "treat",(that's yet to be paid for), oh, and by the way, he did NOT move all the items from the stroller to the cart, so there's quite a few items that have not been checked out. He gets all huffy with me, and rather dramatically, says "never mind" on his treat, and starts to exit the store. So, we have a stroller, and two carts, and we're seriously irritated at one another. We wrestle with everything all the way to the car, bickering the entire way, then I just start hurling items from the cart into the vehicle, which makes him madder, so he tells me to "just get into the car".

I get Sam into his car seat, and give him a sippy cup of juice, and we enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet (well, except for my murmuring and grumbling) until Scott gets into the car. We both start telling the other what they did wrong, and all of a sudden, Sam flings his sippy cup from the back seat, and it beans Scott right in the back of his head. Hard. (It was really loud!). He drops his head, and perhaps loses consciousness for a moment, then starts moaning. Well, God forgive me, I completely lost it, and could not stop laughing. With the noise it made, and Scott's reaction, I felt like I could literally see the stars swirling around his head.

It was a long, quiet ride home.

THE SCALE

I have had a long, torturous relationship with THE SCALE. There's been a few (and by few, I mean, like, two) happy moments on THE SCALE, but mostly just mayhem and destruction. I can be feeling really slim.... really good.....smiling, even, but then.......THE SCALE reflects something horrifying, and it plunges me into despair.

Realizing my fixation with THE SCALE is not healthy, I even tried having my husband hide it from me, but then I proceeded to search my house, with all the fervor of a CSI team member, and then hid it from HIM, so he wouldn't know I found it.

What's even weirder is, the WAY I weigh. Our bathroom has a tile floor, and with slight adjustments, the scale will render slight variations in the number displayed. No lie, I have moved and weighed, no less than 15 times, trying to get the number that is least likely to make me hang myself. Additionally, I have found that when I step on the scale with my left foot FIRST, the number is lower. I know that seems crazy, but it's true. I'm not even going to get into all the techniques of weighing with one hand on the wall to "steady" myself, or standing on one leg, sucking in, or blowing out all my air, or any number of other strategies employed over the years.

Having said all of that, it makes it even more confounding what I did when I joined Weight Watchers with my mother. I had never done WW, and was not accustomed to the whole weighing in "semi-publicly" bit. One morning, I woke up really early, so had a bowl of cereal, did a few chores around the house, then went to pick up my mom to go to our Saturday morning meeting. On the trip in, I mentioned the fact that I had eaten something, to which my mom said, sweetly "WHAT??! ARE YOU CRAZY??!!! YOU DON'T EAT BEFORE YOU GET WEIGHED! YOU DON'T EVEN PUT LOTION ON!!! HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?!" Wow. Wonder where I got my weight issues from?

Re: Weight Watchers. It was okaaaay. I just wasn't crazy about getting up early on my day off, and I resented the perkiness and condescending manner of the leader. I started just doing the weighing thing, then muttering something about an "emergency",can't stay for the meeting", but after the 5th time, they started to catch on. I couldn't take the guilt anymore, so I quit going.

One other thing about WW meetings. Okay, mine was in a strip mall, with WEIGHT WATCHERS on a huge, lit sign, AND there were no window coverings of any kind, so there we all were, perched (precariously, in some cases) on our folding chairs, for all the world to see! Plus, we had to walk in there! I'd rather someone think I was going to the liquor store (at 7:30 in the morning) and/or the cigarette store, than think I was going in to Weight Watchers! Why?! I'm weird! We've established that!

On that subject......one day, after the meeting, Mom and I were sitting in her car, deciding where to go eat (you know, since the weighing was over for another week!), and this guy pulls up next to us in an out of town construction vehicle. Our window was down, and he says "Excuse me, ladies. Do you know where the Wells Fargo Bank is in this town?" We told him, then he says "Thanks. Good luck at Weight Watchers!".

I was incensed! Fuming mad! How dare he think that we were there for Weight Watchers! Maybe we were going to the liquor store, or the dollar store, or the grocery outlet, but NO, he ASSUMED that we were going to Weight Watchers! Stupid, stupid, pig man! I mean, we could stand to lose a few pounds, but we weren't, like, bed-dwellers! THE NERVE! My mom interrupted my tirade, pointing, wordlessly, at my chest. There on my shirt, was my "Hi, My Name is Cherie", with "WEIGHT WATCHERS" in huge letters above it. Oh. Never mind.

I'm back to weighing in at home. Yes, it adds an extra 30 minutes to my morning routine, but it's worth it.

I picked the wrong career

If I worked for the state, or was in law enforcement, or firefighter, I could be retired now......that really ticks me off. Of course, those things never entered my head when I was in my 20's. Retirement? That's for OLD people!

So, here I am, at an age, I don't even like to THINK out loud (starts with a 5, ends with a 1), and I'm still working 40 hours per week, getting up at 4-freaking a.m. It sucks. I have to go to bed, like, right after dinner. If I was a morning news anchor, I might have to get up a teensy bit earlier, but I would essentially be doing what I do now; acting like I care. At least, I would get to wear nice clothes.

Okay, I'm not really serious when I say I don't care. I kinda care, and it might surprise you to know, that I'm actually pretty nice to my patients. The "nice" goes away, if the patient is a butthead, however. I'm not one of those "Let the patient treat you like crap, cuz they don't feel good" kind of people. My favorite is the patient who gets irritated at ME, because I'm waking them up to do a test that THEIR DOCTOR ordered. It's not like I got up this morning, and said to myself "Hmmm, who can I torture today" (well, I DO sometimes do that, but the answer is always "my husband") PLUS! HELLO?! You're the one who came to the hospital, for, presumably, a REASON.

By the way, on the subject of patients, and hospitals. For those that are not familiar with hospitals.....the telephones in the patient's rooms are actually right next to the bed on a bedside table. Soooo, if you are calling someone who is a patient, and they don't answer within, oh, about EIGHTEEN RINGS!, then they are either not in the room, or some other VERY GOOD reason why their phone is not being answered (like, perhaps,they are undergoing a bedside ultrasound examination that requires concentration and difficult positioning, and does not allow for the patient OR THE SONOGRAPHER to answer the phone). I fantasize about snatching up the phone on ring 19, and saying "REALLY?" But I don't, because a) it would require moving, and b) I might get fired.

Well, I guess that's enough for now. Trust me, there is plenty of material generated by my job.....we WILL re-visit this.

It Should Be Harder to Get a Driver's License

Imagine you are on one of those roads that reminds you of the pictures we've all seen, where it seems to go on forever, finally disappearing over some far away hill. Now imagine you're driving on that road...all alone. No cars in front of you. No cars behind you.

As you're hurtling along at 65+ mph, you see a car way up ahead, that seems to be waiting to turn on said highway. You see them, but you're still very far away, and you expect the car to pull out. It does not. Rather, it sits there, expectantly, obediently, as if yielding to your obvious superior driving skills, waiting its' turn like a well-behaved child.

You draw nearer, realizing they are not going to pullout, and you relax into the driving groove you've got going. Maybe you're even smiling a little, at the small victory that is yours. They are, after all, waiting for you to pass, and you will be ahead of them.

Then..... it happens. You are close enough to see the three days of stubble on the driver's chin (hopefully, a male), when inexplicably, he pulls out! What the ????? "Why didn't you pull out in the 20 minutes it took me to reach you? OR, conversely, why not wait 30 seconds more, and then pull out since THERE IS NO ONE BEHIND ME!!!"

You're well aware that you can go around them, but why should you? This is their fault! They should be the one to move to the right shoulder and out of YOUR way, so you are not forced to turn the steering wheel even one millimeter! PLUS! You had to abandon your cruise setting!! The whole trip is ruined now because of this *&^*! inconsiderate boob behind the wheel of a car!

I think it's possible that I sometimes get overly dramatic about stuff that happens to me, but after I think about it some more, I disagree.

Don't Touch My Car

One of my (many) pet peeves is when someone puts a flyer on my windshield. Now, I have to deal with this piece of paper! Sometimes I try to flick it off with my windshield wipers, but can't really do that because it would be littering (and it usually doesn't work anyway). It irritates me that someone thinks it's OKAY to put something on my personal property. DON'T TOUCH MY VEHICLE, PEOPLE!

Even if I want, and have been searching for, the product or service you are offering, I will not patronize your business because you violated my "code of conduct". This also applies to anyone calling my home, trying to sell something.

And, while we're on the subject, I'm not a fan of being accosted outside the grocery store with people trying to get me to sign a petition, or buy something. It just feels like an ambush. There ARE things I want to support, but I don't want to feel forced to do it. But, maybe that's just me....

Yardwork

Let me start by stating that few things in life are more satisfying than weed-eating and mowing. You see the results of your labor right away. It's especially enjoyed by those of us into immediate gratification.

That being said, there are a few aspects of "working the property" that are NOT as enjoyable. Both of the places that we've lived had an acre of land with the house. The good news about our previous home, was that the land was flat; the bad news was, it was right on a main road, so it was difficult to enjoy with the NON-STOP traffic. The home we're in now, is on a steep hill, which means all the "field" part of the property is on said hill. No one piece of equipment can handle the job..... it requires them all.

I started this morning, with good intentions. Going to pick up ALL the debris (sticks, pine cones, rocks). That lasted about 5 minutes. Then, I just decided to set the mower at the highest setting and "go for it". Apparently, we have a gopher problem......all the ground is misshapen and has dirt piles everywhere. So, I'm out there trying to push the stupid mower over this stupid uneven ground, and believe you me, I'm using muscles I haven't used since I gave birth. I get past that part, and then I'm under the trees, where, evidently, I "missed" a few sticks. It sounds like I'm running a wood chipper out there, but I DON'T CARE. My husband was yelling at me.....something about "the blade of the mower getting dull", but again I DON'T CARE. That's why the mower place sharpens blades, right?

Plus, if "the husband" doesn't like how I'm doing it, then he can get himself and his ruptured disc down there and do it himself.

I'm not even going to talk about the issues I had with the stupid weed-eater, that DOES NOT automatically feed the line as advertised, and keeps revving like I'm running a food processor on "pulse" Or the death trap riding mower that I got tipped so far on it's side that I tried to catch it with my foot (not recommended).

It also became clear to me that my spouse and I have different perspectives on physical labor. When I see him working in the yard, or say, installing mini-blinds, etc, I couldn't be more attracted to him. However, when I approached him after working in the yard, he held me at arm's length, and wouldn't look me in the eye. My feelings would've been hurt, but just then the wind shifted and I caught a whiff of myself, AND when I came in to get cleaned up, saw that somehow, I even had pieces of grass, etc, stuck on my teeth. (?) So, note to self; take a shower before greeting husband.

Ah, the joy of Spring.....it will need mowing again in a week!

The Beginning

So, it occurs to me that I have lots of things that I want to say.....not that anyone wants to listen, but nevertheless, it seems that it could just fester if I don't get it out. I am a medical professional, who has been in this field for about 25 years (Wow, that sounds old. Probably because I AM old), and it just amazes me how clueless people can be. "You're short of breath? Oh, do you think that could be related to smoking for FIFTY YEARS?" But, I don't say it, and try to keep my face from saying it (which I usually fail at. Ask anyone. I have zero poker face ability). My work life consists of talking (and praying) all the way to work, that if I "kill anyone at all, let it be with kindness", and telling myself "You CAN DO IT". "You're a winner". "Hang in There", and multiple other poster slogans that just irritate me.



At home, I'm married to a fantastic looking man. No. Really. I can't even count the number of times, some insensitive boob asked me, "How'd YOU get him?" (or variations, thereof). Even my own mother, whenever I complain about him, says "But he's soooo cute!", like that makes up for every other failing. And, to make matters worse, he's REALLY nice. It's like being married to a puppy; everybody makes over him, and wants to pet him, and makes excuses for him when he piddles in the house.



But, I'd be lying if I said his looks don't matter......I mean, I DID fall for him, and fall in a big way. Okay, true story. This is how we met. He's a funeral director. A mortician. An undertaker. (You get the drift), and he would come to the hospital to pick up, ahem, "customers", and I had a MAD CRUSH on him. Seriously, I would see that death gurney coming around the corner, and my heart would be going a million miles an hour (actually, that might've been from the No-Doz). He was always very cordial, and professional, but NEVER, EVER flirted at all, even though, I all but gave him my house keys. Never knew that he liked me. Turns out, he's kinda shy. Who knew? I was able to capitalize on his low self-esteem, and gentle nature. SCORE!



There's lots of other details in this story, but since I assume I'm going to run out of things to say, at some point, maybe I should hold back a little. Plus, I have to go to the bathroom.