Being the realistic idealist that I am, it is not a surprise to discover this new train I'm riding on the way to Getting Old is barreling down dichotomous tracks. While I certainly miss my old brain...I have a growing appreciation for the moments of hilarity that happen along the journey to Getting Old. Seldom a day goes by without an opportunity to laugh at myself. Or even better, to poke fun at the Dickman.
I think it is fair to say that our new favorite recreational activity is to catch each other in the act of Getting Old. I also think it's fair to say I am losing. But only because I prefer quality over quantity.
Last week, I made plans to meet a friend for lunch in Borger. This was a friend that I had not seen since our high school days, but had enjoyed reconnecting with on Facebook. As I was running amok in an effort to get ready, she texted to ask if I would pick her up at the Borger library. I texted back and told her "No problem".
It really would not have been a problem 10 years ago. But because I am Getting Old, I couldn't find my shoes. Clearly, somebody had taken my shoes. With my butt up in the air and my head stuck under my bed, I found myself cursing "whoever took my shoes" with increasing volume. As I ran through the kitchen to answer the phone, I spied my shoes sitting by the back door - exactly where I had left them. Since I was now running late, I hurriedly put on my shoes, jumped in the car and started backing out of the garage...when I realized I didn't have my phone. I had to pull into the garage and go back inside to begin another search.
After spending five minutes tearing my house apart, I gave up and called my cell from the house phone. With great relief, I heard the faint sounds of Gloria Gaynor belting out "I Will Survive" (my ringtone) coming from the garage. I returned to the car and dug my cell phone from the depths of the Black Hole of my purse just as Gloria shouted out her last, "hey, hey".
Finally. I was on my way.
Here is where the dichotomy comes in: while the idealistic side of me wanted to be pleased about finding my lost items and glad I wouldn't have to murder whoever took them, the realistic side of me was frustrated about being an absentminded putz that can NEVER manage to get anywhere on time with everything intact. As I pulled into Borger both selves suddenly realized --- not only was I fifteen minutes late, but I didn't have a clue about how to get to the library. Once again, I dug my cell phone out of the Black Hole and called the Dickman.
I swear this was our exact conversation:
ME: WHERE in Borger is the library?
DICK: (silence--loooong silence)
ME: Is it on Weatherly Street? WHERE in Borger is Weatherly Street?
DICK: Shoot, Robin. I was in the 3rd grade the last time I set foot in that library. I remember, because I checked out "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and never returned the book. So even if I did know where the library is, I could never go back there. I'm a wanted man with a bazillion dollar library fine.
ME: How can it be that we grew up in Borger, graduated from Borger High, were married and had two sons in Borger, and neither of us know where the freaking library is? That is SO embarrassing. I CAN'T tell my friend I don't know how to get to the Borger library. I haven't seen her since high school. I don't want her to know how stoopid I really am.
DICK: I've got it! You can call OnStar and ask for directions. They already know how stoopid you are. And hey - make sure you don't tell anybody at the library where to find me.
***
I only had to wait a few days until an opportunity to get even with him presented itself. And of course, I took it.
***
We arrived in Ruidosa on Saturday with barely enough time to check in at the hotel and get Dickie to the golf course for his tee time. The Dickman - who is never late - was flustered and rushed. He unloaded his golf clubs and frantically began searching through the pockets of his golf bag.
"Whaddya looking for?" I asked.
"My good pair of sunglasses...I don't like the ones I'm wearing. Oh well."
I took one good look at him and said, "Uh...I know you're in a hurry, but I really want to take a golfing picture before you go."
I knew his harried self would oblige. The Dickman loves having his picture taken...
I think it is fair to say that our new favorite recreational activity is to catch each other in the act of Getting Old. I also think it's fair to say I am losing. But only because I prefer quality over quantity.
Last week, I made plans to meet a friend for lunch in Borger. This was a friend that I had not seen since our high school days, but had enjoyed reconnecting with on Facebook. As I was running amok in an effort to get ready, she texted to ask if I would pick her up at the Borger library. I texted back and told her "No problem".
It really would not have been a problem 10 years ago. But because I am Getting Old, I couldn't find my shoes. Clearly, somebody had taken my shoes. With my butt up in the air and my head stuck under my bed, I found myself cursing "whoever took my shoes" with increasing volume. As I ran through the kitchen to answer the phone, I spied my shoes sitting by the back door - exactly where I had left them. Since I was now running late, I hurriedly put on my shoes, jumped in the car and started backing out of the garage...when I realized I didn't have my phone. I had to pull into the garage and go back inside to begin another search.
After spending five minutes tearing my house apart, I gave up and called my cell from the house phone. With great relief, I heard the faint sounds of Gloria Gaynor belting out "I Will Survive" (my ringtone) coming from the garage. I returned to the car and dug my cell phone from the depths of the Black Hole of my purse just as Gloria shouted out her last, "hey, hey".
Finally. I was on my way.
Here is where the dichotomy comes in: while the idealistic side of me wanted to be pleased about finding my lost items and glad I wouldn't have to murder whoever took them, the realistic side of me was frustrated about being an absentminded putz that can NEVER manage to get anywhere on time with everything intact. As I pulled into Borger both selves suddenly realized --- not only was I fifteen minutes late, but I didn't have a clue about how to get to the library. Once again, I dug my cell phone out of the Black Hole and called the Dickman.
I swear this was our exact conversation:
ME: WHERE in Borger is the library?
DICK: (silence--loooong silence)
ME: Is it on Weatherly Street? WHERE in Borger is Weatherly Street?
DICK: Shoot, Robin. I was in the 3rd grade the last time I set foot in that library. I remember, because I checked out "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and never returned the book. So even if I did know where the library is, I could never go back there. I'm a wanted man with a bazillion dollar library fine.
ME: How can it be that we grew up in Borger, graduated from Borger High, were married and had two sons in Borger, and neither of us know where the freaking library is? That is SO embarrassing. I CAN'T tell my friend I don't know how to get to the Borger library. I haven't seen her since high school. I don't want her to know how stoopid I really am.
DICK: I've got it! You can call OnStar and ask for directions. They already know how stoopid you are. And hey - make sure you don't tell anybody at the library where to find me.
***
I only had to wait a few days until an opportunity to get even with him presented itself. And of course, I took it.
***
We arrived in Ruidosa on Saturday with barely enough time to check in at the hotel and get Dickie to the golf course for his tee time. The Dickman - who is never late - was flustered and rushed. He unloaded his golf clubs and frantically began searching through the pockets of his golf bag.
"Whaddya looking for?" I asked.
"My good pair of sunglasses...I don't like the ones I'm wearing. Oh well."
I took one good look at him and said, "Uh...I know you're in a hurry, but I really want to take a golfing picture before you go."
I knew his harried self would oblige. The Dickman loves having his picture taken...
"My memory’s not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my memory’s not as sharp as it used to be."`
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