Sometimes adults forget how youngsters like to collect things. Don’t get me wrong, collecting stuff is fine, but kids like to collect the oddest things and for the most bazaar reasons.
For instance, your child brings home a stick. It just an ordinary looking stick, nothing special. A few days later, you’re about to throw the stick out when your child pitches a fit.
“Why don’t you want me to throw the stick away?” you ask.
“Because,” he says with a look of indignation, “when we go to the ocean I want to throw it in the water and see how long it takes for it to wash back to me.”
Never mind that you live in North Dakota, have never seen the ocean, and don’t care if you ever do. Heck, you can barely afford to put gas in the car to get you to work and back, let alone make a trip to the coast. But, there’s still a chance that some day you’ll go and he wants to be ready.
Middle son used to collect rocks. “So what’s wrong with that?” you ask. Nothing, it’s just that he was so sure every rock he saw was rare and worth a fortune, especially since a buddy of his, who was an expert on rocks (“he has a book on the subject and everything”), assured my son that every rock he owned was priceless. Consequently, no one walked around barefooted in our house unless stubbing one’s toes provided some kind of morbid pleasure.
As kids get older, the things they collect become even more bizarre. A few years back I looked out our front window and spotted some kind of black, round object in the gutter across the street. I asked eldest son to go check it out. A few minutes later he came waltzing through the front door with a 20 pound bowling ball in his arms.
“Can we keep it?” he asked, as if it were a puppy.
What was I supposed to say, “Only if you feed it and clean up after it?”
I figured the bowling bowl was probably meant for the Salvation Army truck, which was coming by that morning to pick up the neighborhood’s used goods, but while discussing this fact with my sons (by now all three were begging me to let them keep the thing), the truck passed by our house. We were stuck with the ball.
Well, months later that confounded bowling ball was still with us, and you know, that thing took on a life of its own (ever noticed how the finger holes in a bowling ball look suspiciously like a face?).
One time I tripped over that darn ball at the bottom of the stairs. After the pain in my big toe subsided, I made my way upstairs to the family room to watch T.V. When I finished watching television I arose from my chair, took two steps toward the staircase, and tripped over that dang ball again! It made me so paranoid I picked it up and searched for little feet on its bottom side.
That whole situation was reminiscent of an ugly growth on one’s foot, which, no matter what one does, it won’t go away.
But truth be told, I was almost afraid to get rid of that little ball--I feared it would find its way back to our home and seek revenge on me for trying to dispose of it.
I have to admit though, as time passed I became fond of the thing. It was so cute with its pug nose and beady little eyes. Besides, it became part of the family for the minute the kids gave it a name (Rolly if you can believe it) the ball was here to stay.
What I couldn’t figure out was if it was a boy or a girl and if bowling balls breed like rabbits. Just to be safe, I figured we’d get it fixed.
7 comments:
Anonymous said...
I really enjoyed reading this post, just like always. You tell a great story. You always make me chuckle.Walley Gator
Sunday, March 25, 2007 11:21:00 PM EDT
Peter said...
Hi Doug, those bowling balls are cute little suckers aren't they, got a way of worming their way under your guard.
Monday, March 26, 2007 3:28:00 AM EDT
cmk said...
My girls collected rocks and the youngest wouldn't EVER let me throw away any scrap of paper she had written on--never mind the fact she DIDN'T know how to write at the time! I was so very lucky to have to only deal with scraps of paper and rocks--NO bowling balls anywhere to be seen. Funny, funny post.
Monday, March 26, 2007 3:03:00 PM EDT
Rachel said...
My great neice is into the rock collecting thing. Hopefully she'll get over it soon, or at least learn that she doesn't have to have EVERY rock she sees.Bowling balls do look like they have little faces! I like the name you gave it!!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007 11:45:00 PM EDT
mischief said...
I never grew out of collecting rubbish and now I try to keep it to collecting airline sickbags and totally random HUGE posters discarded by perfume shops. My flatmates are going to disown me soon. A great blog Doug!mischief
Wednesday, March 28, 2007 8:52:00 PM EDT
Elise said...
Funny! I enjoyed this.
Thursday, March 29, 2007 1:33:00 AM EDT
4evergapeach said...
It's great to be back. I've really missed your posts. I need to catch up.One question though...How do you "fix" a bowling ball? LOL
Saturday, March 31, 2007 7:19:00 AM EDT
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sometimes You're the Windshield, Sometimes You're the Bug
A few years ago, when living in Branson, Missouri, former Mrs. Bagley and I were awakened early on a Saturday morning by the crack of thunder, which sounded like the U.S. Calvary had discharged a battery of cannon from our rooftop. A monsoon like rain followed on the heels of the thunder and began soaking the ground.
I lay in bed, on my back, bug-eyed, staring at the ceiling until sometime after 4:00 am, when I finally drifted off to sleep. Fifteen minutes after drifting off, my heart was jump-started by the annoying screech of our alarm clock, and with just three hours of sleep I began getting ready for the family trek to the Kansas City International Airport to pick up eldest son, who was flying in from a vacation out west.
By six o-clock, braving the pouring rain, I ran out to our car (we lived in an apartment and didn’t have a garage) and discovered I’d left the driver’s window down the day before. Dashing madly back into the apartment, I grabbed an armload of towels, bolted back through the downpour and piled the towels on the seat. You know, it’s amazing how much water a car seat can hold—I went through three armloads of towels before I could sit in the car without soaking my britches.
Finally, we drove off toward Kansas City, but we didn’t get far. The dirt road leading from our apartment to a main road crossed a hollow (pronounced holler in Southern English), and the heavy rainfall had created a wide, fast moving creek that traversed the road at the bottom of said hollow. Rather than risking our lives by fording the swift moving creek (in the Ozarks, every year people die when trying to cross the powerful waters that travel through the hollows), I turned the car around, and we went back to our humble abode.
I was able to phoned eldest son to tell him that unless, like Moses, I could part the waters, we would be late to pick him up. He was instructed to sit tight once he got off of the plane.
Well, we were an hour and a half late arriving to KC International, and eldest child, impatiently tapping the sidewalk with his foot, was outside the terminal, waiting for us. We loaded his luggage, he climbed in to the car, and we headed home.
We’d not been on the road very long when I could feel sleep deprivation rearing its ugly head, so I pulled to side of the road to let ex-wife relieve me of my driving duties. Almost as soon as I sat my hind quarters down on the passenger’s side of the front seat I fell asleep.
An hour or so later I was roused from my deep slumber when the words, “OH NO!” screeched forth from former wife’s lips, soon followed by a horrendous bang of something striking the driver’s side of our new car.
On the two lane highway were traveling a tow truck, coming in the opposite direction, was towing a motor coach. Just before we passed each other a set of dual wheels from the rear axel of the motor home came off and rolled, at about 60 mph, directly toward our car. Ex-wife swerved in time to avoid a head-on collision with the tires but the free-wheeling dualies did smack our left front fender.
We pulled off to the side of the road to inspect the damage. It was obvious our car was inoperable, leaving us stranded in the little Missouri town of Clinton, which had no rental car companies anywhere in the vincinity.
One of the officers at the scene of the wreck offered to take us to a restaurant where we could phone someone in Branson to rescue us. We loaded our belongings into his cruiser, and just before we pulled onto the highway our neighbors drove past us on their way home from a trip. They had noticed the wreck, saw the tow truck pulling away with our automobile, and observed the police car following it onto the highway. Our neighbors didn’t offer us a ride. They didn’t notice us in the officer’s car. It would be another five and a half hours before we finally made it home.
Well, we made a phone call from a pay phone in the lobby of the restaurant, then gathered up our belongings and, resembling a band of vagabonds, traipsed through the restaurant toward a table in a back dingy corner of the establishment.
That’s when the bus boy stopped us. “Homeless people are to wait outside by the back door for leftovers!” he exclaimed.
I don’t remember what I said to that little snot-nosed nymph as I attempted to explain our situation, but I’m sure it wasn’t nice, for he shot me a dirty look and retorted, “Sorrrry, Mr. King of the road!”
Our ride home finally made it to the restaurant and picked us up. It was late in the night, early morning actually, when we arrived in Branson, but before dropping us off, friend refueled his car. While he was doing that I headed over to the cashier to pay for the gas.
While stepping out of his vehicle, I heard something hit ground but was too tired to really pay much attention to it. I should have. One forward step and CRUNCH! I'd stepped on my sunglasses which had fallen from my coat pocket, thus creating the perfect end to a perfect day.
As this adventure wound to a close, middle son tried to cheer me up.
“Don’t worry, dad,” he said. “Life is at its worst just before it gets better.”
“I’ve been waiting for life to get better now for many a year,” was my response.
“Well,” he told me, “maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”
That boy was such a comfort.
8 comments:
Peter said...
“maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”Now that is a cheering thought isn't it!!!
Monday, April 23, 2007 7:18:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Lol! I love that line, Doug!“maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”Great story...but I'm sure NOT a fun day for any of you!Junie
Monday, April 23, 2007 10:22:00 AM EDT
Britmum said...
Wow what a cheery time you had. lol I am glad you can see the funny side though and write about it.Take care xx
Monday, April 23, 2007 2:54:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
"and that's when i killed the boy, Your Honor."'nuff said.
Monday, April 23, 2007 8:34:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
Valerie said it all...
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 4:40:00 PM EDT
Rachel said...
What an adventure Doug!! Well, maybe it didn't seem like an adventure then! You sure had one rotten day. Seems like your son was looking for that silver lining somehow! Glad you didn't hurt him!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 9:33:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
Do you listen to country music Doug? There's a song that describes that day...."If your going through Hell" Here's the first verse:Well, you know those times when you feel like There's a sign there on your back.Says: "I don't mind if you kick me; "Seems like everybody has."Things go from bad to worse:You think they can't get worse than that an' then they do.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 10:54:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Great words of wisdom. I will remember that the next time I'm in the depths of despair. Life is getting better for you Doug, isn't it?
Wednesday, April 25, 2007 12:03:00 PM EDT
I lay in bed, on my back, bug-eyed, staring at the ceiling until sometime after 4:00 am, when I finally drifted off to sleep. Fifteen minutes after drifting off, my heart was jump-started by the annoying screech of our alarm clock, and with just three hours of sleep I began getting ready for the family trek to the Kansas City International Airport to pick up eldest son, who was flying in from a vacation out west.
By six o-clock, braving the pouring rain, I ran out to our car (we lived in an apartment and didn’t have a garage) and discovered I’d left the driver’s window down the day before. Dashing madly back into the apartment, I grabbed an armload of towels, bolted back through the downpour and piled the towels on the seat. You know, it’s amazing how much water a car seat can hold—I went through three armloads of towels before I could sit in the car without soaking my britches.
Finally, we drove off toward Kansas City, but we didn’t get far. The dirt road leading from our apartment to a main road crossed a hollow (pronounced holler in Southern English), and the heavy rainfall had created a wide, fast moving creek that traversed the road at the bottom of said hollow. Rather than risking our lives by fording the swift moving creek (in the Ozarks, every year people die when trying to cross the powerful waters that travel through the hollows), I turned the car around, and we went back to our humble abode.
I was able to phoned eldest son to tell him that unless, like Moses, I could part the waters, we would be late to pick him up. He was instructed to sit tight once he got off of the plane.
Well, we were an hour and a half late arriving to KC International, and eldest child, impatiently tapping the sidewalk with his foot, was outside the terminal, waiting for us. We loaded his luggage, he climbed in to the car, and we headed home.
We’d not been on the road very long when I could feel sleep deprivation rearing its ugly head, so I pulled to side of the road to let ex-wife relieve me of my driving duties. Almost as soon as I sat my hind quarters down on the passenger’s side of the front seat I fell asleep.
An hour or so later I was roused from my deep slumber when the words, “OH NO!” screeched forth from former wife’s lips, soon followed by a horrendous bang of something striking the driver’s side of our new car.
On the two lane highway were traveling a tow truck, coming in the opposite direction, was towing a motor coach. Just before we passed each other a set of dual wheels from the rear axel of the motor home came off and rolled, at about 60 mph, directly toward our car. Ex-wife swerved in time to avoid a head-on collision with the tires but the free-wheeling dualies did smack our left front fender.
We pulled off to the side of the road to inspect the damage. It was obvious our car was inoperable, leaving us stranded in the little Missouri town of Clinton, which had no rental car companies anywhere in the vincinity.
One of the officers at the scene of the wreck offered to take us to a restaurant where we could phone someone in Branson to rescue us. We loaded our belongings into his cruiser, and just before we pulled onto the highway our neighbors drove past us on their way home from a trip. They had noticed the wreck, saw the tow truck pulling away with our automobile, and observed the police car following it onto the highway. Our neighbors didn’t offer us a ride. They didn’t notice us in the officer’s car. It would be another five and a half hours before we finally made it home.
Well, we made a phone call from a pay phone in the lobby of the restaurant, then gathered up our belongings and, resembling a band of vagabonds, traipsed through the restaurant toward a table in a back dingy corner of the establishment.
That’s when the bus boy stopped us. “Homeless people are to wait outside by the back door for leftovers!” he exclaimed.
I don’t remember what I said to that little snot-nosed nymph as I attempted to explain our situation, but I’m sure it wasn’t nice, for he shot me a dirty look and retorted, “Sorrrry, Mr. King of the road!”
Our ride home finally made it to the restaurant and picked us up. It was late in the night, early morning actually, when we arrived in Branson, but before dropping us off, friend refueled his car. While he was doing that I headed over to the cashier to pay for the gas.
While stepping out of his vehicle, I heard something hit ground but was too tired to really pay much attention to it. I should have. One forward step and CRUNCH! I'd stepped on my sunglasses which had fallen from my coat pocket, thus creating the perfect end to a perfect day.
As this adventure wound to a close, middle son tried to cheer me up.
“Don’t worry, dad,” he said. “Life is at its worst just before it gets better.”
“I’ve been waiting for life to get better now for many a year,” was my response.
“Well,” he told me, “maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”
That boy was such a comfort.
8 comments:
Peter said...
“maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”Now that is a cheering thought isn't it!!!
Monday, April 23, 2007 7:18:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Lol! I love that line, Doug!“maybe we haven’t seen the worst yet.”Great story...but I'm sure NOT a fun day for any of you!Junie
Monday, April 23, 2007 10:22:00 AM EDT
Britmum said...
Wow what a cheery time you had. lol I am glad you can see the funny side though and write about it.Take care xx
Monday, April 23, 2007 2:54:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
"and that's when i killed the boy, Your Honor."'nuff said.
Monday, April 23, 2007 8:34:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
Valerie said it all...
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 4:40:00 PM EDT
Rachel said...
What an adventure Doug!! Well, maybe it didn't seem like an adventure then! You sure had one rotten day. Seems like your son was looking for that silver lining somehow! Glad you didn't hurt him!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 9:33:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
Do you listen to country music Doug? There's a song that describes that day...."If your going through Hell" Here's the first verse:Well, you know those times when you feel like There's a sign there on your back.Says: "I don't mind if you kick me; "Seems like everybody has."Things go from bad to worse:You think they can't get worse than that an' then they do.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007 10:54:00 PM EDT
Melanie said...
Great words of wisdom. I will remember that the next time I'm in the depths of despair. Life is getting better for you Doug, isn't it?
Wednesday, April 25, 2007 12:03:00 PM EDT
An Unusual Lost and Found
LOST:
A cute, chubby, happy little boy, wide-eyed and innocent, a little boy who used to be scared of the world without Mama or Daddy holding his hand.
Lost is a little boy who mimicked Daddy's every move, who loved horsey rides on Daddy's back and who would say "Mitmy Mouse" instead of Mickey Mouse and "Kop Kopter" instead of helicopter.
Lost is a boy whom Daddy had to rock-a-bye and sing to sleep, a little boy who liked to play catch with Daddy but could never quite throw the ball back in Dad's direction.
Lost is a little boy who liked to play chase under the dining-room table and giggled hysterically when he was caught.
Lost is a carefree little boy who loved to sing and laugh and pull silly, little pranks on his parents and then laugh himself sick when they would put on a big to-do so as not to spoil his fun.
Lost is a little boy who proudly walked out of the bathroom with his face all scraped up, holding Daddy's straight-edge razor, announcing to Mommy that he had shaved his face just like Daddy.
FOUND:
A medium-sized, strong, handsome, teenage boy who walks with a bounce in every step, who carries himself with the confidence of someone ready to tackle the world and all that it has to offer, knowing that he'll always come out on top.
Found is a teenage boy whose feet have grown too large for Daddy's shoes and, therefore, walks his own path, making his own way in life.
Found is a teenager who isn't sure anymore just what his relationship with Dad is and sometimes is embarrassed to be seen with Dad when his young buddies are around.
Found is a teenager who increasingly spends more time away from home, who enjoys hanging with friends a little more than he does his own family.
Found is a teenager who years ago gave his Mickey Mouse doll to a younger brother but who still gets excited when he sees a helicopter, vowing to fly one some day.
Found is a teenager who can sometimes act like a monster and prefers to toss footballs with friends rather than with Dad and who throws the balls more accurately and farther than his father ever could.
Found is a teenager who would rather flirt with the young ladies than play chase with Daddy, who sings his own tunes, listens to his own music and can't eat, do homework, or sleep without his radio turned on.
Found is a teenager who has outgrown horsey rides on Daddy's back and is more interested in the horses under the hoods of cars.
Found is a teenager who is in need of his own razor to shave his ever-darkening beard, who like a bear cub, likes to wrestle and test his strength against Dad.
Finally, found is a little boy who is fast becoming a young man and has left his father somewhat lost in the world.
8 comments:
cmk said...
And time moves on faster and faster...despite what we, as parents, might want.
Sunday, May 13, 2007 11:15:00 PM ELOST:
Peter said...
Pas, Present and Future Doug, you still have the Man to come to complete the picture.
Monday, May 14, 2007 12:36:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Ahhh-Doug,It's too fast for any parent!Junie
Monday, May 14, 2007 3:48:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
Doug, you are such a writer...sharing the pride and pain of watching your boy becoming a man...much too quickly.
Monday, May 14, 2007 9:06:00 PM EDT
Renae said...
That was absolutely beautiful!!! I loved this post the best!!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007 12:06:00 PM EDT
Anonymous said...
I have to say, this is one of my very favorite posts of yours. Very touching. You are a great father. Walley Gator
Wednesday, May 16, 2007 11:28:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
I lost the same boy and found the same teenager.Love the post!
Thursday, May 17, 2007 10:58:00 PM EDT
skrpndiva said...
What Valerie said! Wow, what a great scrapbook page that would make!!!Popped on over when I noticed you'd visited my blog.Great posting! Love it!
Friday, May 18, 2007 1:46:00 PM EDT
A cute, chubby, happy little boy, wide-eyed and innocent, a little boy who used to be scared of the world without Mama or Daddy holding his hand.
Lost is a little boy who mimicked Daddy's every move, who loved horsey rides on Daddy's back and who would say "Mitmy Mouse" instead of Mickey Mouse and "Kop Kopter" instead of helicopter.
Lost is a boy whom Daddy had to rock-a-bye and sing to sleep, a little boy who liked to play catch with Daddy but could never quite throw the ball back in Dad's direction.
Lost is a little boy who liked to play chase under the dining-room table and giggled hysterically when he was caught.
Lost is a carefree little boy who loved to sing and laugh and pull silly, little pranks on his parents and then laugh himself sick when they would put on a big to-do so as not to spoil his fun.
Lost is a little boy who proudly walked out of the bathroom with his face all scraped up, holding Daddy's straight-edge razor, announcing to Mommy that he had shaved his face just like Daddy.
FOUND:
A medium-sized, strong, handsome, teenage boy who walks with a bounce in every step, who carries himself with the confidence of someone ready to tackle the world and all that it has to offer, knowing that he'll always come out on top.
Found is a teenage boy whose feet have grown too large for Daddy's shoes and, therefore, walks his own path, making his own way in life.
Found is a teenager who isn't sure anymore just what his relationship with Dad is and sometimes is embarrassed to be seen with Dad when his young buddies are around.
Found is a teenager who increasingly spends more time away from home, who enjoys hanging with friends a little more than he does his own family.
Found is a teenager who years ago gave his Mickey Mouse doll to a younger brother but who still gets excited when he sees a helicopter, vowing to fly one some day.
Found is a teenager who can sometimes act like a monster and prefers to toss footballs with friends rather than with Dad and who throws the balls more accurately and farther than his father ever could.
Found is a teenager who would rather flirt with the young ladies than play chase with Daddy, who sings his own tunes, listens to his own music and can't eat, do homework, or sleep without his radio turned on.
Found is a teenager who has outgrown horsey rides on Daddy's back and is more interested in the horses under the hoods of cars.
Found is a teenager who is in need of his own razor to shave his ever-darkening beard, who like a bear cub, likes to wrestle and test his strength against Dad.
Finally, found is a little boy who is fast becoming a young man and has left his father somewhat lost in the world.
8 comments:
cmk said...
And time moves on faster and faster...despite what we, as parents, might want.
Sunday, May 13, 2007 11:15:00 PM ELOST:
Peter said...
Pas, Present and Future Doug, you still have the Man to come to complete the picture.
Monday, May 14, 2007 12:36:00 AM EDT
JunieRose2005 said...
Ahhh-Doug,It's too fast for any parent!Junie
Monday, May 14, 2007 3:48:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
Doug, you are such a writer...sharing the pride and pain of watching your boy becoming a man...much too quickly.
Monday, May 14, 2007 9:06:00 PM EDT
Renae said...
That was absolutely beautiful!!! I loved this post the best!!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007 12:06:00 PM EDT
Anonymous said...
I have to say, this is one of my very favorite posts of yours. Very touching. You are a great father. Walley Gator
Wednesday, May 16, 2007 11:28:00 PM EDT
4evergapeach said...
I lost the same boy and found the same teenager.Love the post!
Thursday, May 17, 2007 10:58:00 PM EDT
skrpndiva said...
What Valerie said! Wow, what a great scrapbook page that would make!!!Popped on over when I noticed you'd visited my blog.Great posting! Love it!
Friday, May 18, 2007 1:46:00 PM EDT
The Sock Exchange
When I embarked on the journey of fatherhood no one told me one of the “joys” I had to look forward to would be loss of personal property. It must be one of those taboo subjects that everyone knows exists but never talk about it, like when one’s family discovers that Uncle John has a hidden passion for anchovies on his pizza.
A few years back, I noticed certain personal items of mine were disappearing, namely my socks. Now, to my way of thinking when dirty socks are thrown into the clothes hamper, once they’re washed they should, like a boomerang, return to the place from whence they were thrown. But this wasn’t happening.You see, about a month or two after buying a drawer full of new white athletic socks, I noticed not all of them were returning to me after I threw them into the hamper.
An intense investigation revealed that eldest son, in a moment of teenage delusion, had been “mistakenly” grabbing my socks instead of his own out of the hot dryer.Unfortunately for me, eldest son had worn said socks, and no shoes mind you, while playing several sandlot football games in the mud and rain—he figured he’d be in deep ditty if he muddied up his new $200. 00 basketball shoes, so of course, my new socks were the logical substitute.
Well, back to the store I went to purchase another drawer full of socks. This time, however, I had a plan.While at the store, I also bought a laundry pen and put a big capital D on the toes of all my new footwear. There was no way eldest son could unknowingly end up with my socks in his possession.
For a while all was going pretty well with my plan and I began feeling putting smug about it all. Then it happened. One day, I went to the orthopedist about some knee trouble I was having. Not surprisingly, the doc wanted x-rays taken of my knee, which, of course, meant I had to slip out of my jeans and into one of those backless hospital gowns that were obviously designed by an exhibitionist.
As I sauntered down the hall toward the x-ray room, I became acutely aware that I was on the receiving end of a host of odd looks from the nurses and doctors’ assistants. I couldn’t feel a breeze on my hindquarters so I knew wasn’t flashing anyone. Maybe I absent mindedly forgot to put on my 18-hour deodorant and it was now in its 19th hour. A quick, nonchalant, sniff of my right armpit eased those fears, so why the stares? Then I noticed that the eyes of all who were staring at me were focused downward, toward the floor. MY SOCKS! I’d gotten so used to wearing socks with a big D on the toes that I completely forgot about it.
My first impulse was to quickly bend over and rip those suckers from off my feet. But one doesn’t bend over in public when one is wearing a funny little medical gown; not unless one wishes to remind others of that great old Creedence Clearwater song, “I See a Bad Moon a Risin’.”
So I was stuck and I did the only thing I could do. Mustering what dignity I had left, I proudly strolled down that hallway as if there was nothing abnormal about wearing socks with a big letter written on their toes. Who knows? Maybe everyone would think it was some new fashion trend, bu that hope was dashed moments later by the x-ray technician.
I confidently walked into the room and the technician promptly ordered me to lie down on the ice-cold x-ray table. As the tech was maneuvering the machine over my knees she spied the D on my socks and began to hoot and holler.
“What the heck is the letter D doing on the toes of your socks?” she loudly asked.
Red-faced with embarrassment, I quietly told her of my stocking woes. Then she really started cackling and tears ran down her face as she lost her balance and slumped against a wall in a fit of laughter.
“Oh that’s too much,” she managed to say between laughs. “That is just too funny!”
Before I could ask her to keep it our little secret, she burst out of the room and ran down the hall bellowing, “Hey, everyone, you’re not going to believe this…!”
Soon, everybody in the building rushed to the x-ray room for a gander at my feet, and that, I’m afraid, was just the opening battle of the war over my possessions.
The very next morning I saw eldest son wearing one of my favorite T-shirts as he ran to catch the school bus. As I watched my favorite shirt disappear into the distance, worrying about what would become of it by day's end, I found myself singing that great lament of a song concerning one’s offspring, "Should’ve Had Dogs.”
8 comments:
skrpndiva said...
OMG, you are so hilarious. Imagine my surprise to see that you'd written today rather than Monday!That's a great idea though. May have to do that once my ds is wearing the same size as my dh.
Sunday, July 22, 2007 10:34:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
pretty freaking funny.i have this image of you, strutting down the hall to the melodic strains of "Stayin' Alive," ala John Travolta.gotta love that.
Monday, July 23, 2007 8:00:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
Love the story. Thankfully, my daughters didn't find too many of my things appealing--I don't know WHAT I would have done, as I am very possessive of my stuff. :)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 12:42:00 AM EDT
McSwain said...
That is FUNNY! Hopefully I won't have to worry about my son borrowing my clothes. Now there's a scary thought--I'll dismiss it quickly.I used to borrow my dad's socks, too, and his t-shirts to sleep in.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 5:09:00 AM EDT
Renae said...
The things we do as parents to prove a point, LOL !! I have been in a few situations myself where all was good and then it backfired on me when I least expected it!! Take care and be blessed!!!
Thursday, July 26, 2007 11:47:00 AM EDT
Britmum said...
Thats so bloody funny.Scragend looses his socks to Sam already but I am afraid that is my fault. Geez how am I supposed to know?Take care xx
Thursday, July 26, 2007 10:22:00 PM EDT
Debbie said...
With big man toes I'm sure you were better off keeping them covered up.Man toes are not sexy! hahaha
Saturday, July 28, 2007 2:05:00 AM EDT
Rachel said...
What a funny story!! Yep, it's a good thing you didn't bend over in that little gown, what with that bad moon and all!! LOL That was a creative way to keep your own socks though! Playing basketball in socks; they sure won't last long that way!
Saturday, July 28, 2007 6:56:00 PM EDT
A few years back, I noticed certain personal items of mine were disappearing, namely my socks. Now, to my way of thinking when dirty socks are thrown into the clothes hamper, once they’re washed they should, like a boomerang, return to the place from whence they were thrown. But this wasn’t happening.You see, about a month or two after buying a drawer full of new white athletic socks, I noticed not all of them were returning to me after I threw them into the hamper.
An intense investigation revealed that eldest son, in a moment of teenage delusion, had been “mistakenly” grabbing my socks instead of his own out of the hot dryer.Unfortunately for me, eldest son had worn said socks, and no shoes mind you, while playing several sandlot football games in the mud and rain—he figured he’d be in deep ditty if he muddied up his new $200. 00 basketball shoes, so of course, my new socks were the logical substitute.
Well, back to the store I went to purchase another drawer full of socks. This time, however, I had a plan.While at the store, I also bought a laundry pen and put a big capital D on the toes of all my new footwear. There was no way eldest son could unknowingly end up with my socks in his possession.
For a while all was going pretty well with my plan and I began feeling putting smug about it all. Then it happened. One day, I went to the orthopedist about some knee trouble I was having. Not surprisingly, the doc wanted x-rays taken of my knee, which, of course, meant I had to slip out of my jeans and into one of those backless hospital gowns that were obviously designed by an exhibitionist.
As I sauntered down the hall toward the x-ray room, I became acutely aware that I was on the receiving end of a host of odd looks from the nurses and doctors’ assistants. I couldn’t feel a breeze on my hindquarters so I knew wasn’t flashing anyone. Maybe I absent mindedly forgot to put on my 18-hour deodorant and it was now in its 19th hour. A quick, nonchalant, sniff of my right armpit eased those fears, so why the stares? Then I noticed that the eyes of all who were staring at me were focused downward, toward the floor. MY SOCKS! I’d gotten so used to wearing socks with a big D on the toes that I completely forgot about it.
My first impulse was to quickly bend over and rip those suckers from off my feet. But one doesn’t bend over in public when one is wearing a funny little medical gown; not unless one wishes to remind others of that great old Creedence Clearwater song, “I See a Bad Moon a Risin’.”
So I was stuck and I did the only thing I could do. Mustering what dignity I had left, I proudly strolled down that hallway as if there was nothing abnormal about wearing socks with a big letter written on their toes. Who knows? Maybe everyone would think it was some new fashion trend, bu that hope was dashed moments later by the x-ray technician.
I confidently walked into the room and the technician promptly ordered me to lie down on the ice-cold x-ray table. As the tech was maneuvering the machine over my knees she spied the D on my socks and began to hoot and holler.
“What the heck is the letter D doing on the toes of your socks?” she loudly asked.
Red-faced with embarrassment, I quietly told her of my stocking woes. Then she really started cackling and tears ran down her face as she lost her balance and slumped against a wall in a fit of laughter.
“Oh that’s too much,” she managed to say between laughs. “That is just too funny!”
Before I could ask her to keep it our little secret, she burst out of the room and ran down the hall bellowing, “Hey, everyone, you’re not going to believe this…!”
Soon, everybody in the building rushed to the x-ray room for a gander at my feet, and that, I’m afraid, was just the opening battle of the war over my possessions.
The very next morning I saw eldest son wearing one of my favorite T-shirts as he ran to catch the school bus. As I watched my favorite shirt disappear into the distance, worrying about what would become of it by day's end, I found myself singing that great lament of a song concerning one’s offspring, "Should’ve Had Dogs.”
8 comments:
skrpndiva said...
OMG, you are so hilarious. Imagine my surprise to see that you'd written today rather than Monday!That's a great idea though. May have to do that once my ds is wearing the same size as my dh.
Sunday, July 22, 2007 10:34:00 PM EDT
Valerie said...
pretty freaking funny.i have this image of you, strutting down the hall to the melodic strains of "Stayin' Alive," ala John Travolta.gotta love that.
Monday, July 23, 2007 8:00:00 PM EDT
cmk said...
Love the story. Thankfully, my daughters didn't find too many of my things appealing--I don't know WHAT I would have done, as I am very possessive of my stuff. :)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 12:42:00 AM EDT
McSwain said...
That is FUNNY! Hopefully I won't have to worry about my son borrowing my clothes. Now there's a scary thought--I'll dismiss it quickly.I used to borrow my dad's socks, too, and his t-shirts to sleep in.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 5:09:00 AM EDT
Renae said...
The things we do as parents to prove a point, LOL !! I have been in a few situations myself where all was good and then it backfired on me when I least expected it!! Take care and be blessed!!!
Thursday, July 26, 2007 11:47:00 AM EDT
Britmum said...
Thats so bloody funny.Scragend looses his socks to Sam already but I am afraid that is my fault. Geez how am I supposed to know?Take care xx
Thursday, July 26, 2007 10:22:00 PM EDT
Debbie said...
With big man toes I'm sure you were better off keeping them covered up.Man toes are not sexy! hahaha
Saturday, July 28, 2007 2:05:00 AM EDT
Rachel said...
What a funny story!! Yep, it's a good thing you didn't bend over in that little gown, what with that bad moon and all!! LOL That was a creative way to keep your own socks though! Playing basketball in socks; they sure won't last long that way!
Saturday, July 28, 2007 6:56:00 PM EDT
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