The Point Is At The End Of This Post, But You Can Read The Rest Of It If You Want To
It was drizzling today, and normally I'm all into the drizzling, because — DRIZZLING — it is such a great word. I get to wake up and hear that it is drizzling, and then I get to think "hmmm, it's drizzling", and then every time I look out the window to check the weather, I see that it is drizzling. It sounds like some kind of wine or a city in Deutschland or a brand of automatic hammer. Are there even automatic hammers? Drizzling drizzling drizzling. This drizzle is fo' shizzle.
Right. So, it was drizzling, which usually makes me want to stay indoors, because drizzling equals wet, and I am terribly suspicious of umbrellas. I don't trust them. I always end up pinching my fingers in the thingy around the main pole, or the material pulls off one of the spokes and flaps up all dorkily in the wind, or I somehow manage to rip out my half-inch long hair when I neglect to hold the umbrella up high enough, and then the umbrella ends up wet, and wherever I go I have to find a place to put my drippy umbrella, or I worry when I bring it home that I won't let it dry out enough and that it will be mouldy the next time I open it up. I've never opened up a mouldy umbrella, but I'm sure that it could happen.
Ooookay, so forget about the drizzling and my ridiculous umbrella-related anxiety. My original point was that, despite the rain and the umbrella minefield in my hall closet, I left the house to take a walk this afternoon, because my cats ran off with my darning needles, leaving me with yarn ends trailing from all my crochet projects, and all that freaking acrylic string dangling from otherwise decent creations was driving me nuts.
No, I am not a control freak.
I walked to the yarn store, and wouldn't you know it, part of the material ripped up from one of the umbrella's spokes, and when I got to the yarn store, I ended up having to put my umbrella in the window display to avoid putting it in the aisle. I felt really uncool, but, lucky for me, I'm thirty-six, and most of the time cool can pretty much fuck itself now. I turned a corner in the store during my darning needle search when this German lady suddenly popped up in front of me and said "Be carefuhl vere yo0 valk", and she pointed at this very elaborate setup all over the yarn store's floor. There were about thirty stuffed animals arranged by colour in rows in front of some small movie-watching device, and next to them were cardboard boxes repurposed as buildings joined by a bridge. "You voodn't vant tuh destroy dem", she said, sweeping her arm around the weird floor display until my eyes fell upon two little boys who looked up at me like I was the lamest thing ever to interrupt their disturbingly ordered colour-wheel-esque mock theatre in the middle of a yarn store.
I pretty much just wanted to buy my darning needle and run, but I somehow ended up talking with the German woman about how the first television I remembered watching was black and white and only had two channels that you had to use a can opener to change, and she told me all about how she didn't have a television in Germany, but when she came to Canada, she lived with her sister, and they also had two channels, but the family had to sit in specific parts of the living room in order for them to get decent reception. I am now officially talking like my parents, except that when I say I had to walk uphill both ways to school, I really did. The route to my high school from my house was about uphill halfway both ways. I developed a pretty nice pair of calves back in 1987.
Have I even mentioned what my point is aside from the photograph at the top of this entry? No, and I apologize for that. I have a fever, and I lose track of stuff when I have a fever, which makes me forget to eat, so I'm feverish AND I have low blood sugar.
After I left the yarn store, I went to check my post office box, and inside my post office box was a Reese Peanut Butter Candy Egg, the best of all Easter-related candy eggs, and a note inside a red envelope, which was the POG's way of saying thank you to me for bringing him some books that I didn't want anymore. A red envelope filled with my favourite candy was one of the best things to happen into such a grey day after incomprehensible yarn store strangeness, a busted umbrella, and a fever-induced blood sugar low.
The note has accidentally become my favourite part of this post, because I had to blur some of the words to save the POG from self-incrimination, because I'm nice like that, and now it has ended up making the note sound kind of dirty:
Thanks for the books. I'll have something to ---- -- ----------- ---- ---- when I'm -----. I hope you can eat chocolate. Have a great day.
I'm so glad that he'll have something to ---- -- ----------- ---- ---- when he's -----. It's a terrible thing to be -----.
I absolutely swear that the books I gave him aren't dirty. I swear.