Today's guest is none other than Nanny Goats in Panties. If you haven't seen this blog before - check it out! She has funny stories, well-written, that are entertaining, and easy to relate to. My kind of blog!!
Hermits Are Us
Me and the Mister work from home, so before the Isolationism cement dries, we must venture out into the world with all you people. You know, to keep it real.
Yesterday, the signs of Hermitism overwhelmed us when one of us got riled up by a neighbor whose canine's scrambled around the tennis courts across the street. One of us -- I won't mention his name -- pulled his hair out in clumps, demanding to know, "Why is this guy just letting his dogs run around the tennis courts to bark and pee and poo? Are dogs even allowed on the courts? Aren't there…rules or something?"
When control issues like these pervade your mind and raise your voice to that of a girl's, you've spent too much time at home, spoiled, and the only way to fix it is to assimilate back into the public. It was time to desensitize.
We jumped into the car and headed out to Borders for some literary and musical perusal followed by Whole Foods. That's right Whole Foods; we like to keep it real, but not that real.
At one intersection out there, we saw some idiot -- I mean, fellow human being -- blocking a bunch of traffic resulting in much horn honking and belated middle-finger flipping. Not on our part, of course. We are too civilized.
While cruising the produce section at Whole Foods, we witnessed a baggy-dressed lady chomping on plums. Plural, as in, more than one plum. I guess part of our problem is that we don't live in the moment. Perhaps erroneous, we often consider the long term consequences of our actions. It follows, then, that as we watch other people's actions, we consider their long-term consequences as well. How else can we properly criticize and judge them?
So there we were, wondering how the she-masticater planned to pay for food that requires a weigh-in at the check-out stand. She didn't look like the kind of woman who regularly barfed up her food, so producing the proper weight of her plums wasn't an option. Would she shamelessly produce two juicy pits and expect the checker to estimate it? Or would she surreptitiously insert the slimy centers in between random bags of pasta on aisle nine? We didn't know, but we spent well over half of our visit in the store discussing it.
Perhaps we were unfair in our judgement of this poor starving woman. Perhaps plums aren't sold by weight and she would have simply opened her palm at the check-out stand to report the number of mush-covered pits, returning them to the confines of her pocket, or better still, dropping them in a conveniently located garbage receptacle nearby but not before ensuring that she was charged for them.
Or maybe, she was a quality assurance specialist employed by the corporate office whose memory is so outstanding that she does not require a clipboard but waits until she returns to her car to report her results. In any event, we'd had enough of you people for one day and came home exhausted from our jaunt, and watched 8 consecutive episodes of Celebrity Fit Club while glued to the couch. And then we had pie.