I never lie. Especially about a fart. I pride myself on that fact. But, we were in the car with the in-laws and I was feeling self conscious. All three rows of the Ford Explorer were in use because there are six of us. I was crammed in the back row with Emma. I let one fly. Silently.
Emma: (loud) MOM! You farted!
Me: (actually a bit embarrassed for once) No, I did not.
Emma: Yes, you did!
Mom: (deflecting) Maybe it’s the cow farm you smell. Or, someone else in the car.
Emma: Grandpa! Was that you?
Later that night…
Me: That was me who farted in the car.
Ken: No, shit. And nice of you to blame my dad.
Me: I didn’t blame your dad. The conversation just flowed that way.
Bad daughter-in-law. BAD. You would have done the same thing.
But we did have a nice day in Estes Park visiting the Stanley Hotel (think the “Shining” movie).
This morning’s workout was 2,700 yards at the pool (that’s 108 lengths to you and me). I warmed up and did a 200/400/600/600/400/200 ladder with 5 second rest intervals. Then a cool down. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a robot. Staring at the bottom of the pool. Trying to keep count.
The pool was teeming with pre-pubescent swim team girls. What? Is school out? Do kids like to swim? Isn’t there somewhere else for these kids to be at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday morning? Like sleeping maybe or watching Sponge Bob?
Post workout, I got out and the lifeguard said, “Since you spend so much time looking at the bottom of the pool, would you please let me know if you see hairballs or band aids that I need to clean up?”
I’m not kidding. She said that.
Sure, sister. I got your back. Are you paying me by the hour? And, thanks for reminding me that there ARE indeed hairballs and band aids in the pool. And thanks for not mentioning turds and scabs.
And, the goggle eyes. They really have to go.
TGO4DTF (Thank God Only 4 Days ‘Til Friday),