Well, since TheUglySisters@yahoo.com mailbox is dry, I'm going to weasel out on this post and just do a Slice O' Life ramble.
I had a long day which began with me dragging my blessed butt out of bed to attend 8:00 AM Mass with Prima's third grade CCD class. It's ironic in that 8:00 AM Sunday morning is ungodly early to do anything, if you ask me, let alone attend Mass, what with all the standing and kneeling and standing. As my husband noted: "Didn't God supposedly rest on Sunday?" My idea of "rest" is hunkering down under the comforter until at least 11:00 AM, and finally stumbling out of bed to grab the newspaper and a tall glass of Alka-Seltzer. God, evidently, is one of those up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-for-an-invigorating-run types. I'm guessing He also does some puttering about the garden and then cleans-up quickly for Mass, after which He settles down for a fry-up with bacon, sausage and tomatoes, immediately followed by elvenses and a pot of tea with some scones. God, I'm also guessing, has high cholesterol and should cut down on the smoked meats.
After Mass, we hauled blessed butt over to Hershey's Zoo America for Girl Scout Day At The Zoo. The purpose of the event was to observe the animals, and then complete various badge activities at outdoor stations set-up throughout the zoo.
I knew that the day was going to be cold, and by the time we got there not only was the day cold, but it was raining.
And then it was sleeting.
And then it was snowing.
And we walked outside for two and a half hours in the rain and the sleet and the snow.
And amazingly, even after my morning's recommendation to my daughters that they should probably strongly consider wearing several layers of clothing - including, but not limited to, long underwear, gloves, hats, wool sweaters and socks, and a layer of beaver pelt to ensure that they stay warm and dry - both my daughters made the outstanding choice to instead dress in attire rather better suited for a July afternoon at Pismo Beach. I suppose Girls Scouts needs to be more specific in their "Be prepared" motto.
Or at least add a codicil.
Something like "...or suck it up, kiddo."
Because if there's something I hate more than walking around a zoo in the rain and the sleet and the snow trying to observe the non-existent animals - animals who had the better sense to hunker down in their dens under their comforters - that something I hate more would be my walking around a zoo in the rain and the sleet and the snow with two Whiney-Pants McFreezy Girls. Natural consequences are a bitch. Mostly for me, it turned out. On top of the whining, the weather turned so cold that I had to stop the lesson in "I told you so and now maybe you'll listen to me next time" because it doesn't look good if the leader's kids get hypothermia. And so I lost my own hat and gloves to my chilly children.
I finished off the day with a turn at work, and I'm at least happy to report that all the customers are back to normal.
There was one moment when an older gentleman in a curiously stained shirt asked for assistance finding the new Playboy boxed collection, and he started talking just a bit too long and just a bit too enthusiastically about the portrait poses of nude women in the 1950s as compared to portrait poses of nude women from today; when he began to detail to me all the Playboy magazines in his collection and which magazines were keepsakes and which ones he "used"; when he kept backing me around the 20%-off Holiday Books table, and every time I tried to make a break for the information desk, he'd cut around the table to block my escape, all while continuing to regale me with the specifics of his grand plan to pay for his kids' college tuition by selling nudie magazines on eBay.
It wasn't a particularly awful moment as far as "slightly creepy customer service moments" go. Although, half-way through the encounter, I did make a quick judgment call as to whether Sopranos: The Book or The Annotated Secret Garden weighed more - just in case the conversation and the cornering took a more confrontational turn and I was forced to brain the guy. (The Annotated Secret Garden, I decided, would be the heavier and more likely choice for sufficiently braining someone. My day was rife with irony.) But all turned out well, and Mr. Hefner finally got bored with my noncommittal "Hmmmmm" s and, I'm guessing, my paucity of nudeness. It wasn't, after all is said, one of those (still infrequent) times when I do feel the need to completely shower-down after a particular encounter with The Public. This time, I was able to make do with a good dousing of hand sanitizer. And a renewed commitment to learning the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique.
The rest of the evening was quiet, and once the snow began to pick-up, I was shooed-home early with a chocolate croissant and a grande Chai.
And now I'm in cozy pajamas and about to - finally - hunker-down under my comforter.
There will be more randomness tomorrow.
Sweet dreams, Dear Readers.
I almost forgot!
If you are this person
you need to send me your new email address. I tried to get in contact with you using your old address, but the message got sent back. And I KNOW you wouldn't be ignoring me. Eh-hem.