Right now the tress are dancing about like youngsters at a rave. I’ve never been to a rave so only going on my imagination and lots of bad TV movies about why you shouldn’t do drugs but I think it’s an apt analogy.
I am also fully aware I just used the word ‘youngsters’ and could change it but going to stick with it. I also feel it’s quite apt for what I’m seeing and feeling.
Saturday and Sunday here were in the low 80’s here with a lovely breeze that made it feel almost tropical outside. The kind of weather you don’t mind being outside because every time it gets too hot, the wind cools you off. The kind of day that being in an un-insulated attic pulling electrical wires, like Husband was, makes for an instant headache and lost of poundage and a very grumpy Scotsman. The kind of weather the brings out weird beetle bugs that congregate on your front steps and try to make it inside over your sill and under the door that doesn’t quite reach the sill. The kind of bugs that make you check every pair of shoes that you put on because you’re sure their hiding inside, waiting bite a toe and give you some weird disease that renders you paralyzed but alive inside the shell of your body. A fate that, as Husband informed me before we married, will make him put me in a home because he – and I quote – “…will not be wiping my ass.”
And yes, I married him knowing that.
I think about that sometimes - the paralyzed part, not the Husband not wiping part. I do not think I would be as brave and as inspiring as those Boston bomb survivors that are telling their stories in every news outlet and magazine. I’d like to think I’d be stoic and suffer in silence as I mourned my past life. But really, I think I would be more like the Boy in the Bubble on Seinfeld.
Of course I might end up like this one kid, Bob (not his real name), in high school. Bob had some pretty debilitating disease that may or may not have been Cerebral Palsy. I don’t think I ever knew what it was, I only knew he was confined to wheelchair. Bob had a MASSIVE crush on my friend, Susan (not her real name), but she didn’t return his infatuation. Honestly, Bob was kind of an ass, wheelchair or not. Susan didn’t want to hurt his feelings and, being a freshman in high school not at all versed in communication and honesty, she lied and told him she had a boyfriend. When Bob asked her who her boyfriend was, she turned and pointed to our friend, Sam (not his real name either), standing off in the distance.
We thought that was the end of it but then Sam mentioned to us one day that Bob was following him around school and trying to run over his feet. Like actively chasing him, cornering him and running over his feet! Susan and I laughed when he told us, like laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe. I can’t remember what happened to Bob or Susan after that but I still can remember the look on Sam’s face when he told us about running onto the grass to get away from Bob and his wheelchair and Bob following him onto the lawn, heading right for him and running over his feet!
Perhaps, if I end up in a wheelchair, I’ll be like Bob, tenacious, mean and a little bit of an ass.
I’m not sure how I ended up here, talking about Bob, in a post that started with the weather. But then I re-read the first line - The weather has gone mental again.
I think I might have gone mental along with it.