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Story of My Life

Oh y’all, sometimes I wonder about myself.

I mean, for someone who’s book-smart, I do the dumbest things sometimes.

Take yesterday, for instance.

I’d gone to bed headache-free (yay) but woke up with another one.  Ugh.

I’d actually slept well, so I was discouraged because I’d hoped that I’d wake up feeling better, but hey, that’s par for the course with this little head thing I’ve got going on.

I took it easy and made lunch plans with Megan.  She picked me up, and we headed to Newk’s, where we placed our orders and sat down to chat while we waited for our food.

I love this friend of mine.  We’re starting our seventh year of working together, and she’s simply wonderful.  ❤

My pizza arrived, and I immediately noticed the cheese on it, so I asked them to remake it without the cheese, as I’d originally ordered.  I even commented to Megan that the pizza didn’t look like it usually looked.

When they brought the second pizza, it didn’t have cheese, but it still didn’t look right.  I picked up something and asked, “Is this chicken?”

Megan said that it was.

What the heck?

I thought back to what I’d ordered – the Mediterranean Pizza.  I wondered, did it come with chicken?

Megan looked at me and said, “Yes.  I was wondering what you were doing, but I didn’t say anything.”

She knows I’m a vegan, hence her questioning.

Y’all, I’d meant to order the Veggie Pizza, which I went back and reordered, essentially paying twice for lunch.

Even with the ingredients listed on the big menu board, I did what I’m becoming famous for and didn’t pay attention.

I told Megan that I hoped she liked leftovers, because dinner was on me.

This, my friends, is the story of my life.

For a reading teacher who helps students learn to pay attention to details in text, I sure don’t do a good job of paying attention in my real life.

The Mr. and I were listing some of the times I didn’t pay attention and paid the price for it.

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane . . .

Back when I was in high school, I was sleeping over at my friend’s house.  We got home from somewhere, and it was dark as we made our way to the door.  I stepped on the end of a brick in the yard, it flipped up, end over end, and hit me in the shin, breaking the skin and leaving a huge scar.  I never got stitches for that.  I probably should have.

There was that time when the Mr. and I had been married for a year, and I signed up to do a walk-a-thon, but before I could even meet the group I was going to participate with, I ran into a wood stake that was holding up an event tent.  The stake went into my lower shin, and I had to drive myself to a walk-in clinic and get stitches.  During my drive to the clinic, I had to STOP on the road to let the walkers cross in front of me. I remember that moment as if it was yesterday.

Back then, we didn’t have cell phones, and we only had one car, which I’d driven to the event.  I had to use a landline to call his parent’s house, and they had to drive him to the clinic to get me.  The doctor on call there turned out to be a friend of our doctor friend who the Mr. had gone to college with (the one we stayed with last fall when we went to Auburn one weekend).  Small world.

A few years later, when we lived in Miami, I broke about three toes running into my dining room chairs. The kicker (literally) is that I didn’t break them all the same day. Oh no sir. I broken those babies on different days. Should I have moved the offending chairs elsewhere? Yep. I’m not always the brightest bulb in the pack.

There was the time when we took the kids to Auburn for a weekend of football fun, and I lifted the back door of my car but wasn’t standing back far enough and caught my forehead with the corner of it.  I sported a goose egg that day (but no stitches).

How about the time I tripped over the sidewalk, while I was in the process of logging an extra quarter mile . . . with virtually no light available (because I’m smart that way) . . . and Rooster tenderly patched me up. It was one of those mother-son bonding moments. Silver linings, folks!

It’s hard to forget the morning I burned my hand on the straightener while I was getting ready for work – all because I didn’t look down before I grabbed it and didn’t realize that I was stepping on the cord, so when I pulled it up to my head, my grip slipped until I was holding it by the hot metal plates.  Another teacher patched me up after I stopped by CVS for gauze, Neosporin, and tape. One of my students told me I was all about the drama. You know, there are much less painful ways to create drama in your life. I mean, heck, I teach at a high school where drama lurks around every corner.

Of course, you know about the incident with my ankle.

Over the years, there have been countless bruises, bumps, and scrapes.

All because I have a habit of not paying attention.

You would think that I’d have learned my lesson by now, but nooooooooo, I’m about the world’s slowest learner when it comes to common sense.


The pizza thing was more evidence of that.

I have got to learn to be in whatever moment I’m in . . . to focus . . . because concrete walls do not move, nor do dogs sleeping in the middle of the floor.

Oh, and just so you know – I’m starting my Christmas list early.  At the top:  bubble wrap – body length – because, well, you know.

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