Yesterday, full of grand plans, I got up and dressed and headed out to accomplish all the many things on my list of things needing doing around the house. My back, however, had other plans. While my project possibilities got my brain excited and raring to go, my back decided that massive pain and awkward movement were going to the order of the day. I actually had to grab a cart in each store to hold onto so when the spasms hit, I wasn’t folding over and moaning.
My trip to Lowes turned into a slow turn through the garden section, picking up plants, telling myself the reality of getting them into the ground before they died in the pot were slim, and putting them down.
I then had a lovely chat with a fellow in the woodworking section who kept telling my project was a Pintrest project. I’ve only really perused Pinterest Fail, I told him. Well, Pinterest has become the “bane of his life” and he can’t tell me how many “folks come in here with a stupid picture and think it’s easy to make. Have I done any woodworking? It’s not as easy as it looks. I’ve been a professional furniture restorer and I can recreate any antique and I’ve been doing it for years and years and this Pinterest thing is going to be the death of me.”
I nodded and smiled and laughed and limped slowly away from him without a project in hand. Probably a good thing because later, at the grocery store, I started crying in front of the fresh faced assistant manager when my coupon-loading app wasn’t working and he actually had the nerve to be helpful and ask me what I should be getting a discount on.
Yup. Actual tears came out of my face as I threw a mini temper tantrum, told him to never mind, that I didn't have time for this and waddled with my cart to the check out.
And they kept coming as I slowly loaded up the conveyer belt with my no longer two for one discounts. And then got worse when the fresh faced assistant manager came up to me again, and offered me $4.00 of my total purchases, whispering in my ear so I wouldn’t be embarrassed. Too late dude. Too freaking late.
When they signaled for someone to load my bags into my car, my face caught fire and my tears turned into a stream of total humiliation. I was officially too old to let walk to the parking lot alone and too much in pain to not cry. They were probably sure I would fall down and sue them and there would be pictures of the crying old lady in the parking lot on the evening news - oh wait this isn’t California. Anyway, a dude who was waaaaaayyy older than me walked me out to the car and put them into the tiny trunk of my Smart while trying to make small talk. I’m pretty sure you could have lit a match off my red cheeks. I couldn’t make eye contact. I mumbled my answers to his attempts at small talk. It was awesome. Sigh.
Sadly, I really was in such pain I couldn’t have bluffed through it. So, instead of a day full of creative and useful house related productivity, I had a day of fuzzy conversations and weird writing that doesn't make any sense unless read though the haze of the most awesome back pills ever. I guess that’s better than making a Pintrest Fail project.
Yes, I’ve called the doctor.
No, I don’t have an appointment yet, but I will soon.
Yes, I’m going to go out there and try this moving about the world thing again today. Here’s hoping I don’t breakdown on the floor with the toddlers. I’m pretty sure my temper tantrum will be much more volatile than any they can come up with and I don’t want to be responsible for teaching them to cuss.