Monday, September 27, 2004

Yesterday, I had an experience straight out of the Anne of Green Gables books. Seriously, when you read about it, you'll think it's waaay too weird to have happened in real life.

Okay, so every day that my Cowboy rides off on his bike to go to work at 5:40pm, I stand out on our cement slab porch and kiss him good-bye, and watch him ride off down the block and around the corner, until I can't see him anymore. Well, last night after he'd ridden off, I turned back to the house and discovered I was locked out. There I stood, wearing nothing but my pajamas. No shoes. I ran after Cowboy, but he was blocks ahead and didn't hear my pleas for help. So I walked 17 blocks through the center of town, barefoot and in my pjs, during rush-hour traffic.

I had two things going for me though: 1) I walk barefoot all the time anyway, so my feet are tough, and I didn't get blisters; 2) the pjs I was wearing are really just regular clothes, a pair of black shorts and a red t-shirt. So I'm not footsore, and I didn't look too rakish.

Anyway, I walked to my in-law's house, and the Rescue Ranger drove me to the factory where his wife, Banana, and my Cowboy work. I got the house key, and he drove me home. But boy! Was he ever surprised when he opened the door and I stood, barefoot and bra-less, on his front porch, in need of rescuing once again.

I have come to the conclusion that the citizens of our town need to upgrade their sidewalks and stop mowing their grass so short.

I'm sooooo gonna put this in a story some day.

1 comment:

  1. Okay, my darling daughter. This does not really sound all that bizarre since I know you so well. Actually, you have done many such things in your life. Consider the ketchup all over your wedding dress. Consider the umpteen times you fell flat on your behind while working as a waitress. Consider all the escapades you experienced with Jessie while painting faces. Running barefoot, bra-less, pajama-clad down main street during rush hour is just another one of those endearing things that makes you my wonderful, impulsive offspring. I am afraid you are acting more and more like your crazy mother, though.


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