What I do when interesting things happen on the bus is send myself an email. I have to be honest: I haven’t sent myself many emails lately. I’ve been a bit stressed with all that I’ve taken on lately, but I decided to share a few of the happenings with you.
This super quirky guy checked me out at the grocery store. Wait, no. How do I say that? The check-out guy at the grocery store was quirky. You get it.
While giggling to himself he said, “6-7-8.”
I looked at him and – after a pause – responded with, “What?”
“7 dollars, or uh, $6.78,” he said. “That’s your total,” he stammered out as if hoped he never actually mumbled the pattern of numbers out loud.
Then, I kind of opened my eyes in a way that implied I maybe felt for him and offered him the gesture of an awkward smile.
Can anyone else please find this humorous with me?
. . . . .
Random day on bus.
Things my husband says:
“I don’t understand grocery store names. King Soopers? Safeway? Is there a dangerous way?”
He’s getting increasingly better at his old man jokes.
. . . . .
This wasn’t on the bus, but I had to email it to myself. This was actually from February 24th.
Setting: Bear and I are in our bedroom. I’m sitting on the floor sorting through junk from our desk. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s not a desk; it’s a TV stand except for you can barely see it because there is so much junk always on it. So, we’re going to call it a desk to make me feel better. Take 2: Bear and I are in our bedroom. I’m sitting on the floor sorting through junk from our desk. He is sitting on the floor merely to keep me company. There are a bunch of random things in the pile I’m sorting out – papers, photos, old mail, bobby pins, notes from meetings, a little yellow hair bow that looks like it’s for a five year old that I bought (for myself) like five years ago that I can’t seem to throw away. (If you remember from the beginning of my posts, I’m a “collector of things”. Granted, I only collect sentimental things, but I’m not even sure why I have 80% of the things in our house anymore. I’m working on that.)
“This is the kind of stuff I save,” I say with a bit of disappointment in myself to Bear.
“A little yellow bow just lying around, taking up space… because who knows if I might want it to use it in my hair down the road. Look at it! It’s barely yellow anymore!”
Aaron looks looks at me with that diagonal-lip-emoticon-face because he knows I want to throw away this little yellow bow, but I can’t. (Am I allowed to blame my father because I’m pretty sure this is a genetic disorder.)
The sorting continues…
Then, I come across this charm-like thing that appears to be that of a ram’s head.
“These are the kind of things your wife saves. I don’t even know what this is. The head of a ram? A ram charm? Where did I even get this, and why do I still have it?”
Bear says, “Oh, no, that’s actually Balrog.”
Bear: “Its a fiery ancient demon. He nearly broke Gandolf.”
Me, as if he’s actually speaking another language: “Uhhh…”
Bear: “It goes to a bookmark of mine.”
Bear: “Dont worry. It’s not real.”
Me: “Mmhm, thank you for clarifying.”
Bear: “You don’t remember what the Balrog is?”
Bear: “You know what that means…”
Me: “…We have to watch Lord of the Rings?”
This is our life.
And then I had him re-explain the entire Balrog thing over to me, and I didn’t feel as bad about my little yellow bow. If he can save a Balrog charm to a bookmark, I think I can keep a little yellow bow.
In more recent news, I did throw away that little yellow bow. *Sigh of relief* (Mom, you’d be proud!)
. . . . .
I saw a woman get off of the bus today with two beautiful children. What really caught my eye was that she was a “little person”, and her kids weren’t. My point really has nothing to do with little people and everything to do how much I have no idea what it’s like to live anyone’s life but my own.