Friday, September 30, 2011

Twenty-Twenty

Afternoon Readers,
     Yesterday, while cleaning out our junk drawer, I found something behind the extra tape, spare pencils and coupons I hadn't seen for quite awhile, so I cracked it open and took a peak. They were still there. I slipped them on and stared at Butch and Sundance. "What do you think?" After dropping their cookies, in shock, they started laughing. I'd found my glasses, the ones I talked myself into not wearing, on the grounds that my vision had gotten better by itself - I hear that happens a lot...to just me...and not anyone else. As it turned out, my vision has apparently started healing itself in the opposite direction, leaving me with a somewhat misinformed view of the world.
      Wandering to the back door, I peered outside. My mouth dropped open.  What-in-the-name-of-John Oate's-mustache...

     "Hey you two.." I called over my shoulder. "Did you know we have grass?" For the past three years, I'd been laboring under the delusion what was behind our home was a vast expanse of sand, which always struck me as odd. How had we gotten the only house in the Midwest with cacti? With glasses on, the blades separated, the color filled in and what I'd previously assumed to be a cactus, turned-out to be the hobo who's been living there for what he claims to be an "unspecified amount of time." Huh..

     What else had I been missing? Here's the small list I've compiled since yesterday:
  • My hair situation is far more dire than I'd realized. This week, I'm moving from headbands to twine and duct tape. 
  • When I can't get the TV to turn on, it's because I'm sitting in front of toaster.
  • I've been paying twenty-dollars a week to Publisher's Clearing House and not the gas company. We're still taking cold showers, but at least we know why.
  • The neighbor's dog is actually a cat.
  • We do have a mouse, but it turns out the sugar's been disappearing because I've been trying to brew coffee with it.
  • The old lady next door huffing at me talking to a traveling Bible salesman made more sense. I have a three-foot stack of Hustlers sitting on the coffee table.
  • The eight bottles of "water" I've been trying to drink everyday are wine.
     Elated, I couldn't wait to tell Husband what I'd discovered. When I heard the garage door open, I ran down the stairs and waived. "Hey, guess wha- ". I stopped and started backing up. "Who are you? Get out...I know karate-ish."

     "Hey Babe. How's it goin'?"

     "Don't call me babe. Only my Husband calls me that. Now get out of here before I call the cops."

     "I am your husband. What are we having for dinner?"

     "Listen, guy, my Husband isn't nearly as attractive as you. I should know, I picked him out because we fell somewhere on the same Attractiveness Scale. I'm a four, he's a four... so hit the road. And take your Brad Pitt eyes and Viggo Mortenson cheek bones with you.

     "I'm going inside."

     A couple hours and some security verification later, Husband managed to convince me it was really him.

     I hugged him. "I feel like I've won the lottery. All this time and you were a ten. And now you're stuck with a four. Let's celebrate."

     "Umm..ok. Pizza?"

     "Nope, turns out we've got some bottles of water that'll do just fine..."

All in all, it's back to the glasses for me...


Until Next Time, Readers!