Lyn's Licks & Laughs...with alter egos Bobbie Cole & Sunny

Tiramisu Sans Panties & Cell Phone

I truly believe that sometimes The Universe just thumps us on the head to see which way we’ll spin or whether or not we’ll pick ourselves up if the thump is hard enough. Last week was a bitch enough. Son in hospital, me freaking out, him going in for one thing and discovering he has one or two other problems we didn’t know existed. Now that’s being worked out, and we have revamped the refrigerator and pantry – so all is well. Sort of. But I’m one of those people who has residual stress, leftovers from when they didn’t break down the week or month or whatever before. So while Son and Daughter-In-Law are pretty well over their scare and are handling new lifestyle changes, I had a couple days of meltdown.
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Weekend comes up, and there’s a writers’ program I wish to attend. Love mah fellow local writers anyway, and haven’t missed a meeting since I joined last year. So Gretchen picks me up, I have a queasy stomach and barf. No big deal. I realize I’m not wearing any underwear – meh – who cares, right? But it made me self-conscious. How does one forget something like that? Well, you don’t, unless you’re used to running around in your barely there cotton jammies most days, puttering in your kitchen or yard, doing laundry, your greatest conversations with the dogs or the radio. (Make note to self: GET OUT MORE.)
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Then it happens. I can’t find my cell phone. Shit. This one actually belongs to my son, who works for phone company, who is working on all sorts of secret projects and…well, shit. Phone has GPS monitoring, so I know it’ll eventually turn up. But what I fear is that it’s an ID-10-T problem. I have a habit of just stuffing my cell phone into whatever is handy and have placed it in another woman’s purse more than once. So I have to disrupt the meeting to ask everyone with a black bag to please check for my phone. Someone calls my #, but the phone is on vibrate, so here we are, about 30 of us playing Stevie Wonder, searching for a noise we can’t see. BINGO.
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That solved, we go for Italian food at Cinzetti’s, and I’m supposed to be counting carbs? You gotta be shitting me. I opt for low-carb food for the most part, but dessert time comes around, and I have not only tiramisu but espresso ice-crème. Low enough on the carbs but hell on fats. Who gives a damn? I have my phone, a writers’ meeting under my belt (they’re like AA for authors) and the underwear is at home. It’s nice to be me once again.
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~Sunny Lyn

posted by Bobbie (Sunny) Cole @ 7:26 PM 4 comments