Standing in the warm Spring sun, I took pleasure in watching our Second Grader Sam’s “Field Day.”  Slowly, however, I became aware of the return of an enemy.  An enemy that had taken leave for several months.  It started with a warm feeling on my brow.  I knew what was happening.  I dreaded the feeling.  I had no retreat.  The delicate skin of my Scandinavian ancestors, the same skin that has been locked away in a six month Winter, was now baking in the sunlight.  I needed sunblock.  I would be rewarded with no such comfort.  I would suffer.  Now and later.

At the end of Field Day, I said goodbye to Sam, as he returned to class and I had time to run one quick errand for work.  I knew that my face had been lightly broiled, but I had no clue as to the other side effects.  My errand was to a big box hardware store that will remain unmentioned (Menards, oops, I let it slip).  I knew exactly what I wanted, but had no idea as to the item’s real name (those little utility marker flags) or where they would be located.  As a result, I went to the source of all answers.  The place that would point me in the right direction:  the service counter.

Approaching the service counter with my bright pink face, I was met with an odd sight.  The employee at the counter was standing behind a large (2-3 feet in diameter) concrete or plastic-looking-like-concrete tortoise.  Yes, a tortoise statue was resting between us.  Shocked and somewhat delighted by this strange sight, I looked at the huge turtle and remarked, “What I need help finding is certainly not going to be as interesting as this.”  Nothing.  I was met by a blank stare.  No, worse than a blank stare.  An empty stare.  It was almost like she wanted me dead.  Like she had been tormented all day by comments about the plasticy concrete turtle.  No worse, she had such a blank look it almost bordered on pure distain.  Something like a look saying, “I wish you never had been born.  Vanish from my sight, you filth!”

Stunned, I tried to recover.  I stumbled through a description of the product.  She was very helpful in trying to help me locate, where the item might be located, but never once did that look of sheer hatred leave her face.  The tortoise statue tried to act casual.

Wandering off in search of my utility marker flags or whatever they are really called, I feared the worst.  Not only had the sun toasted my face, it had burned off my essence.  My je ne sais quoi* lay in ashes.  I was no longer myself.  I was but a sad remains.  Now all I can do is take comfort.  Comfort in the fact that time heals all wounds.  All wounds including burnt skin and wounded pride.

* – “je ne sais quoi” a French term referring to an intangible quality that makes something distinctive or attractive.  Ah, je ne sais quoi.  Along with the bikini and salty fries, another reason I say, “Vive la France!”