My daughter is in withdrawal because she hasn't appeared in
the blog for a while. (Wave,
everyone!) She's going to strangle me
when she reads this one, so don't be surprised if I suddenly knock on your door
and seek shelter. Yes, even those of you
living far, far away.
My daughter has had a tough few weeks.
She recently completed school and passed her boards to
receiver her RN degree. In addition to
this stress, she has had some career-related drama that is keeping her (and the
rest of us) on pointe. She lost her keys
to her car at a pig roast in New Hampshire and had to have her car towed home
because no locksmith was available in the boonies on the last day of the July
Fourth holiday weekend. Luckily this time her spare key wasn't actually with her main keys (snowstorm … cough
cough … lost in a snow bank … cough … cough).
As if that isn't enough, the shoes she ordered for her
wedding? Not coming. Oh, sure, the company claims they sent her an
email, but that's bullshit. So now she
has to find wedding shoes with a 2.5 inch heel because that's what the dress
was hemmed for in anticipation of said shoes' arrival. Not only does the heel have to be right, but
so does the style and so does the color she needs them dyed.
Tonight she invites me over for an impromptu barbecue. She and her fiancé are cooking up sausages
and corn on the cob. I have freshly made
pasta salad and a couple of beers to bring with me. All I have to do is go into the basement and
get a cooler. Halfway down the stairs I
see that the cooler corner is empty. Oh yeah; my daughter has four of my coolers
that she borrowed for the pig roast. You
know, the one in New Hampshire. Over the
Fourth of July. When she lost her keys
and had to have her car towed home. With
the coolers in it.
I find a teeny cooler and stuff in two bottles and a plastic
container of pasta and veggies. When I
arrive, we have some conversation, do some BBQ-ing, then sit down to eat a
fantastic dinner followed by some truly amazing ice cream. We return to sit outside for a while, just
until the mosquitoes get unbearable (I have a bite on my right knee that is
driving me bonkers right now).
This is when I find out just how truly in-sync our senses of
humor are. The three of us pull out our
phones. Daughter and Future-SIL both
have iPhones; I have an Android. We
start hustling through our repertoire of funny pictures, videos, and
websites.
First thing we do is search out a rather risqué rumor
because my daughter doesn't so much deny that her mother could know such dishy
gossip as she hates to admit I knew it first.
Alas, I am proven to be near-prophetic as the racy photos make us both
gasp and giggle, especially when she goes to swipe the images and accidentally
puts her finger on a "member" of the opposite sex. (I cannot even imagine what kind of view
history is now stored on her iPhone.)
The next thing we do is start searching for funny pictures,
and I bring up General Meow, who turns out to be Colonel Meow, but neither is
the correct name because I really mean Grumpy Cat. This naturally leads to the video of a cat
barking like a dog who, when bagged at it, turns and starts meowing
mid-bark. The only thing funnier than
that is a screaming goat. Future SIL
possesses the same sicko sense of humor as do we, raises his phone so we can
hear, and lets the screaming goats bleat their bloody heads off.
Finally we settle into the important conversations: upcoming weddings, applications for nursing
jobs, rehearsal dinners, music, tuxedos, and, of course, the hunt for the
replacement no-show bridal shoes. It may
have been a tough few weeks, and there may still be a short list of things to
get accomplished before the year is over, but I have great faith.
After all, if she trusts me enough to write a blog entry
about her, I have to trust her enough to tie up all the loose ends that need to
be looped into neat bows. She knows
she's going to end up in print again, and she prefers that I remain the Blog
Buffoon. I can live with that. (I can also live with the four coolers I
rescue from her trunk before departing for home.)
Just in case, though, if you happen to hear a random knock
on your door, remember to check the peep hole first. If it's me on the other side, lock your doors
and run like hell. And don't you dare
claim I didn't pre-warn you.
