Believe it or not, I haven't made an extraordinary fool of myself this week. I haven't chased the dog while yelling colorful words for all the children in the neighborhood to hear and emulate, I haven't slipped on stage or been gnawing on my foot. This week.
And so I have decided that I will share some of the joy I felt today by listening to my colleague, Gail, tell me about taking out the garbage this week.
First of all, when I talk about Gail, I have to add a Texas drawl because Gail's from Texas. Although this may mean nothing, it gives her an edge of stubbornness and pride. I can't count how many times she's boasted that the Texas flag can be hung at the same height as the U.S. flag due to the fact that it was (and still should be, according to some) a sovereign state.
So Gail's husband had his chest ripped open last week for a quadruple bi-pass. As much fun as that sounds, this means that he can't do his usual chores. Mr. Gail is from Idaho. He doesn't seem to have the pride Gail has. When their son asked how he could help, Mr. Gail told him to pull weeds in the flower garden. Unfortunately, Mr. Gail forgets how the 25 year old boy lacks common sense. The grown boy came over at 10:00 at night with his wife, 1 year old baby, and terminally ill stepdaughter (one lung, half her ribs, etc., etc.) and no jackets. That's where Gail found them when she got home from the hospital. Pulling weeds and not shaking off that precious topsoil. Just dumping the whole thing in the garbage can.
Now Gail has many offers of help but she just can't accept any. Her home teacher had just called and asked if he could do anything like man chores around the house. Oh no, Gail exclaims, we're doin' good. Then she walks outside into a blustery late evening to take the garbage to the curb. All she has to do is tip it on its wheels and lug it to the curb.
Unfortunately, it's completely full of nice, heavy top soil stuck to weeds that her helpful son had pulled, along with grass clippings and the regular garbage. And so she heaves and heaves some more. With one final grunt and heave she finds herself flat on her back with the garbage tipped over on top of her, pinning her to the driveway like a great big SPLAT.
She tries to wiggle free, pushing, pulling, and probably letting out a few of her southern cussin' but she can't move. So she starts to yell for help. 10 minutes later, nobody has come so she keeps at the wiggling and finally frees herself and gets off with a minor abrasion on her hand. She "harumphs" into the house and, in a high southern pitch demands to know why her husband didn't do anything when he heard her cries for help.
He looked down at his barely concealed scars on his chest and asks, "What did you want me to do? You already turned down help right before you went outside."
Swallowing her pride, my dear colleague called her home teacher and warned him to bring his boys to help take the garbage to the curb.
And so I have decided that I will share some of the joy I felt today by listening to my colleague, Gail, tell me about taking out the garbage this week.
First of all, when I talk about Gail, I have to add a Texas drawl because Gail's from Texas. Although this may mean nothing, it gives her an edge of stubbornness and pride. I can't count how many times she's boasted that the Texas flag can be hung at the same height as the U.S. flag due to the fact that it was (and still should be, according to some) a sovereign state.
So Gail's husband had his chest ripped open last week for a quadruple bi-pass. As much fun as that sounds, this means that he can't do his usual chores. Mr. Gail is from Idaho. He doesn't seem to have the pride Gail has. When their son asked how he could help, Mr. Gail told him to pull weeds in the flower garden. Unfortunately, Mr. Gail forgets how the 25 year old boy lacks common sense. The grown boy came over at 10:00 at night with his wife, 1 year old baby, and terminally ill stepdaughter (one lung, half her ribs, etc., etc.) and no jackets. That's where Gail found them when she got home from the hospital. Pulling weeds and not shaking off that precious topsoil. Just dumping the whole thing in the garbage can.
Now Gail has many offers of help but she just can't accept any. Her home teacher had just called and asked if he could do anything like man chores around the house. Oh no, Gail exclaims, we're doin' good. Then she walks outside into a blustery late evening to take the garbage to the curb. All she has to do is tip it on its wheels and lug it to the curb.
Unfortunately, it's completely full of nice, heavy top soil stuck to weeds that her helpful son had pulled, along with grass clippings and the regular garbage. And so she heaves and heaves some more. With one final grunt and heave she finds herself flat on her back with the garbage tipped over on top of her, pinning her to the driveway like a great big SPLAT.
She tries to wiggle free, pushing, pulling, and probably letting out a few of her southern cussin' but she can't move. So she starts to yell for help. 10 minutes later, nobody has come so she keeps at the wiggling and finally frees herself and gets off with a minor abrasion on her hand. She "harumphs" into the house and, in a high southern pitch demands to know why her husband didn't do anything when he heard her cries for help.
He looked down at his barely concealed scars on his chest and asks, "What did you want me to do? You already turned down help right before you went outside."
Swallowing her pride, my dear colleague called her home teacher and warned him to bring his boys to help take the garbage to the curb.
You gotta love that Gail!!!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteIf I am laughing does that mean I have secured my spot in hades? Pretty sure yes.
ReplyDeleteI think I like Gail. A.lot!