Sometimes you run into people you've seen before, but you can't remember who they are. That's happened to everyone. After stopping at the post office this morning, I dropped into the bank, a branch I rarely visit; but it was on the way to Starbucks. When I was finished, the teller said,"Thank you, William." I know that she was just trying to be ultra-friendly in the community banking kind of way, but my friends don't call me William. In any event, I left the bank, got into the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker and the peace symbol on the back bumper, and drove the several miles to Starbucks.
Stacey, obviously feeling better after having dinner out last night with my cousin and her husband at Heck's Cafe, had placed her order with me for a mocha. I thought that was a good recovery indication; so, I figured that when I got home with her mocha, I would fix her some breakfast in bed.
I walked into Starbucks, placed my order, and went to wait over by the little pick-up counter, when a guy came in wearing a spandex running outfit complete with a number pinned to his royal blue abdomen. He looked at me and said, "I didn't see you out there."
I don't recall ever having seen the guy before, but he apparently thought that he knew me and thought I should have been at the community 10K race that was advertised on his abdomen. He added, "Your leg must still be bothering you?"
So, I replied, smiling, holding up my right hand, showing him the Band-Aid on my thumb, "No, but my thumb's been bleeding the past three days."
"You're not Steve, are you. Sorry." He laughed.
Arriving home, Sheba greeted me at the back door. She had a white string hanging out of her mouth, looking to play a little tug of war with me. I put down the mocha and grabbed the string.
There are those times when the glimmer of recognition hits you, like when you realize that the curveball isn't going to break and you're going to get hit in the head if you don't bail pretty quickly or the car in front of you doesn't have any fucking brake lights. Most of the time, you avoid getting beaned or rear-ending the moron in front of you.
This was not one of those times; however, and I knew the thing didn't belong to Stacey. Not the right time or the kind I bought for her. Where are the latex gloves when you need them?
I couldn't fix breakfast.
Posted by Bill at February 19, 2005 12:51 PMI am so pleased Stacey is recovering so nicely but by the sounds of it, you may just have to have your finger amputated and then I will just have to come over and look after both of you *grin*.
Have a fab weekend and lots of luv to Stacey.
Posted by: Michelle at February 19, 2005 02:03 PMReal men buy their wives/girlfriends/daughters tampax.
How the hell can you determine what the brand is after it has been used? That is so incredibly gross. Funny, but gross.
I had been thinking, while I read this, that it's a pity you don't have a younger, single brother but then I realized that (of course. du'oh) Stacey's been working for over 30 years to get you to this point... ;-)
Posted by: lucy at February 19, 2005 02:44 PMOne of those Kodak moments, huh? Gak!
I once had a phone call from a lady who called me correctly by my first name. We small-talked back and forth for about 5 minutes, me puzzling as to who the hell I was speaking to, when she suddenly got quiet and said sheepishly, "I don't think you are MY sister?" Well, duh, I don't even have a sister. We thanked each other and I never heard from my "sister" again.
Posted by: Cowtown Pattie at February 19, 2005 04:47 PMEwwwwww!!!!!
Posted by: jen at February 19, 2005 04:59 PMI just realised what was in the dog's mouth. Like jen said.
Posted by: Anji at February 20, 2005 08:11 AMI'm with Pattie. Gak!!!
I wouldn't have been fixing any breakfast either.
Posted by: Keri at February 20, 2005 10:41 PM