Friday Eve

As we went around the table and described our days, I smiled. Surrounded by my loving family, it was turning out to be a great start to the weekend.

Then a cold feeling began to creep over me. Almost like a drafty floor slowly sending a chill up through your feet and eventually striking your spine.

I realized that it was not the start of the weekend. It was not good. Not good at all. It was Thursday night, not Friday. One more day stood between me and the weekend.

I do not know about you, but forgetfulness sounds like a horrible ailment. A horrible ailment that most certainly deserves a day off.

Pocket with a View

So for the health plan at work, I was supposed to record my daily steps. Since I don’t have a Fitbit, this means carrying my phone on the treadmill.

Strangely enough, the exercise shorts that I was wearing today have a phone pocket on the front inside portion of the pants. It is called a “Speed Pocket,” I call it awkward. When I put the phone into the Speed Pocket, it looks a lot like I am shoving my hand down the front of my pants. Awkward.

Also strange is the fact that when my phone is nestled in the Speed Pocket, it bounces off the underside of my belly. Sorry about that visual. Any who, this bouncing off my belly causes random apps to be activated. This afternoon it happened to be my phone’s camera.

So as I was running on the treadmill, I had no idea that the phone was taking photos inside my pants. Don’t worry, the phone was still in the Speed Pocket, but get this, the flash was apparently going off. My guess is that it looked like I had lightning in my pants. You are welcome for that visual.

Any who, the results. Wanna see the best photo that was taken, while my phone was unknowingly taking flash photography inside my pants? Well, here it is.

Some would say, “Gross!” Others, “Lame!” I say, “Innovation!” Life hack for taking inexpensive photos of one’s innards. Just place your phone where you would’ve never imagined and kiss your dignity goodbye.

Don’t Read Into It

Today was one of those random days off during the school year. For whatever reason, only elementary schools were closed, so I took the day off and went rock climbing with my fifth grade son Ben.

We had a great and exhausting time. I even overcame some of my reluctance to be in high places. Oh, I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with me not wanting to fall a long way down. Any who, we really had a lot of fun.

On our way out of the building, we went by some shirts that were for sale. One had a really striking design with a series of mountains and some hard to read words blended into the drawing.

We stood there for a moment trying to decipher the text. Soon we figured it out, the shirt said, “Let’s get high.” Get it? Rock climbing gym. High. Yep.

So I turned to my fifth grade son and explained, “The shirt is making a joke by using words that have a double meaning. It is also talking about drugs.”

Looking back at me, my boy cut to the chase, “Yeah, but it is still a really cool looking shirt.”

Agreed and duly noted that we should not look to closely into stuff, lest we tarnish outward facing beauty. Oh and another thing, we are not buying that shirt.

Young Ben in action.

I’ll Just Squeeze In

You know, I don’t really consider my Ford Explorer to be a large car. It’s just the way God, er Ford, made it. Sure it seats about twenty and is probably the size of a Space Shuttle, but other than that, perfectly normal.

So we turned into the parking garage, with me still under the assumption that it was a normal sized vehicle. Little did I know that the entire garage was made for Barbie sized cars. Wee little spots surrounded us. Signs for “Compact Cars Only” were the norm and with each turn, I was afforded a generous quarter inch of leeway. “Oh, don’t mind me. I don’t really need these side mirrors.”

Eventually we found an empty space that appeared as if it would fit my ride to Lilliputian land. I pulled in successfully and opened my door to find that I could not squeeze out.

Crawling over the center console and exiting the passenger door, I acknowledged that I should have driven my Hot Wheels car downtown. Oh yeah, that and maybe, just maybe my car is on the large side.

Not Our Place

Before we entered, I thought about telling our son the truth.

“This place won’t welcome you. It will be confusing and disorienting. You will need to beg for help. They will assume that you have no clue what you are doing. The aisles will scream, ‘You don’t belong here.’ You will feel invisible, just because of who you are.”

I wanted to tell him all of those things, but some of life’s hardest lessons you need to discover for yourself.

Then we entered Joann Fabrics.

Room for One More

My boys and I love Mall of America. There, I said it. True confession, because a lot of people consider it as just a loud super sized mall. Oh, no. It is so much more. It is a beautiful chaos with a constant swirl of randomness and fast food.

Well, after a day of Mall of America wonder, we were pretty tired. Pretty tired, when we passed the Icee (slushy) store. Did we have room for one more? Sure, barely. And barely enough to muster one final selfie.

Don’t Eat the Apples

Today at the office, someone brought in a bag of big delicious Honeycrisp apples. They were super yummy and all day, we tried to track down the angel who brought in the free fruit.

Well, later in the day, I ran into the big boss. I asked if he had brought in the apples (he had not). This led to a conversation about how I was happy that they were not “horse apples” (i.e. apples that taste so bad that only a horse would eat them). This led to us chatting about how such apples were horrible to eat, but taste great in pies.

So I get back to my desk and my friend Josh, who overheard the conversation, informed me that “horse apples” actually refer to mummified horse crap. Uh, guess I’ll place this one in the “Awkward Conversations Best Not to have with the Big Boss” file.

UFV

Time for a secret. At the office, sometimes I slip off my shoes. Okay, most of the time. Yep, underneath the desk, my sock covered toes wiggle free.

To amp up my shoe free game, for my birthday my friends at work bought me a super comfy floor (toe) mat. Now, when I sit at my desk, my sock covered toes wiggle in super comfy floor mat carpet fibers. It’s good life.

Today, I went to reorient my floor mat and something fell out.

Celery chunk? Lettuce stowaway? A witch’s finger?

I’m just happy that I didn’t step on it and risk soiling my super comfy mat.

PS – UFV? Unidentified Flying Vegetable.

Man, Mixer, Mission