Last night, I was up half the night because I am like a little kid at Christmas due to the fact that my sister and I bought tickets to go watch the Aggies play in the Sweet 16 this Thursday, and then, the Elite 8 on Saturday (I’m all about positive thinking). And true to form, I spent a lot of time lying awake wondering what on earth I’m going to wear to the games.
The thing about being an Aggie is you should really “maroon out” at all the sporting events, but in case y’all haven’t noticed, there is not a surplus of maroon colored fashionable items. And if I’m going to the Sweet Sixteen, I am not wearing an oversized Texas A&M maroon t-shirt because you know, I might be on TELEVISION.
Anyway, after the Aggies won on Saturday, I spent most of the weekend plotting how I was going to secure a ticket to the game. When I first looked, the cheapest tickets were $250, and seeing as how we might need to buy groceries and pay our electric bill, it seemed a little extravagant to spend that kind of money on a sporting event, even if it is a once in a lifetime opportunity considering the last time the Ags made it to the Sweet 16 it was 1980 and my biggest concern was learning to skate backwards at Magic Skate.
After trying to get through to the ticket office for an excruciatingly long time, they finally decided to answer the phone and informed me that they did indeed have some tickets available at a cheaper price. So, I called my sister to see if she was interested in spending the money to be there in person, even though it means we will be sitting so high up that it will be like watching maroon ants run up and down a matchbook cover, and because she is smart and practical like me, she was totally up for it.
In spite of all the time I spent listening to a busy signal while repeatedly calling the Alamodome ticket office, I did manage to do a few other things this weekend.
On Friday, Caroline spent the night with Mimi and Bops, which allowed me to get so much done it made my head spin. I have been behind on so many things, and once I had some quiet, I was able to get a ton of things accomplished. I also managed to squeeze in some time to go to Target to buy the cute shoes I mentioned on Friday, and pick up dinner for myself at Church’s chicken.
And just so y’all know, I didn’t feel convicted in the least seeing a woman rollerblading around the track at the junior school while I was driving home with my spicy chicken tenders, mashed potatoes and honey biscuits and thinking about the brownie I was going to eat for dessert.
Saturday morning, I was working on the computer when I heard P gasp and say, “You have got to come look at this”. It was the neighbor lady who is in the middle of renovating the house next door, and she was mowing the grass in a downright fancy ensemble.
I, personally, have spent a lifetime avoiding mowing yards, but I can guarantee that if I found myself having to mow a lawn, I wouldn’t be wearing black pants with rhinestone pinstripes, a black paisley tunic and a black cap with the words “Bling, Bling” written in rhinestones. Of course, I wouldn’t wear that outfit while doing other things either, like for example, breathing.
Ironically, the only part of her outfit that disturbed P, otherwise known as the safety police, was the fact that she was wearing rhinestone, open toe slides and kept repeatedly pushing the mower closer and closer to her exposed feet.
Once I joined P at the window, neither one of us could look away. It was a do-it-yourself foot amputation waiting to happen, and as much as we didn’t want to see it, we couldn’t close the shutters and walk away. I tried to justify our peeping tom activities with the rationale that at least we could call 911 the minute the foot came off.
Somehow, neighbor lady managed to finish mowing, with rhinestone slides and foot intact, and just as we were about to get on with our afternoon, I noticed the mailman walking into the port-a-potty set up for the construction workers who are working on neighbor lady’s house.
I asked P, “Is our mailman using that port-a-potty?” And he affirmed that yes, the mailman uses it everyday, but not to perform a biological function. He said, “Just wait for it”.
And about 5 minutes later, our mailman stepped out of the facilities, surrounded by a great cloud of smoke. It seems that he goes in there to take a smoke break during his route.
My question is, how desperate do you have to be for a nicotine fix to smoke in a port-a-potty facility used by no less than 15 different construction workers on any given day?
I think instead of making him toffee next year for Christmas, I’m going to get him a pack of Nicoderm CQ patches. It will be the gift that keeps giving.