I considered titling this post after a R.E.M. song "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I feel fine)" but it's not the end of the world, it's just the beginning.
Let me take a moment and tell you about my morning. I bought a new bra a few days ago, this lacy elle mcpherson number in teal and pastel pink and it's divine. I think I'll do lace for the rest of summer, it feels good to have pretty dritties. So, since the air conditioning man had to come by (I do this twice a year because I refuse to replace the air conditioner or pay upwards of $1200.00 for them to 'find' the leak that causes the unit to stop working every 70-90 days) I went ahead and threw on the new chest-wrangler, black long-sleeved 'hometown' shirt and some black workout pants. All of this i accentuated with a subtle pair of skull n' crossbones chooka wellingtons (rainboots for all the 'mericans).
Well, Bob the air conditioning repair man was efficient and all went well. I had the secret delight of wearing my first fitting undergarment since all the surgeries started. I ended up home because we had an office 'open house' for a our new physician, the wry and witty Dr. Jones. I hid out for most of the open house. Apparently since the last time I bought new clothes - say three weeks ago - I've dropped a few more pounds and my formerly very cute halter ankle-length gingham dress from Target no longer fits. This i could not have anticipated and did not understand at all, so I kept manipulating the dress, tying and retying the spaghetti strap halter and just feeling flummoxed that it was fitting all wrong. Finally my little sister, in something of a hunger-induced snit, grabbed the back of the dress and pulled back about an inch indicating that there was too much dress and too little flesh.
I'm beginning to feel a bit model-ish. I laugh at myself, quietly, when I eat because I pick out everything. I've become a terror at restaurants, I'm the girl who orders everything on the side and changes the basic chemistry of the dish with specifications of how to prepare it. I don't know if I would hate me if I were serving myself - I think I would not because at least I'm pleasant and clear in my instructions.
Speaking of, today the Visigoth and I went for lunch in downtown Decatur. We actually went to a sale in downtown Decatur, but we couldn't find the store (Kaleidoscope Boutique, I'm trying to size myself on all manner of clothing). So, we settled for lunch. We went to Ted's Bison Bar or Montana Ted's - something in that vein. Our server was a certified idiot. He wrote down our entire order and the only thing he got correct was the basic food groups - everything else was screwed. Meanwhile there was this fantastic young lady (that being relative, she could have been older than I am, but I'm telling the story, so I take license here) who was hanging around, reorganizing tables and generally being very competent. Long story short, after we BOTH sent our meals back to the kitchen (how do you foosh up the order for a cheeseburger and fries? It's just not that complicated!) I requested the competent young woman become our server. It's easier to ask for what you need than it is to suffer through what is intolerable. Plus, my anger meter is way low and I didn't want to test myself and just how much calm I have inside of me.
For the record, I suspect a lot, but this is a one-day-at-a-time thing. You can't go from being the queen-of-mean to Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm or at least a peaceful spring of calmness in one fell swoop. I do think all the anesthesia helps. Entire pockets of my memory have been erased. Who needs to get angry when you can't recall the ugly parts any longer?
I digress. It turns out the first, mentally challenged server was the son of the accountant for the restaurant (and former TBS owner). Apparently the father came to the restaurant the week prior and his scion screwed his order as well. Competent he is not.
Well, my back hurts now. It's time to zone out, relax my back and relish the day. Tomorrow I will report on my actividades of watching Pulp Fiction for the first time. I laughed my head off.
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