I’ve fallen prey in the last several weeks to a variety of minor physical ailments. Upset stomach here, pinched nerve there, headaches everywhere. The tall kid tried to present me with a dissertation on the important balance between physical, mental and emotional health, after which I reminded him again if he doesn’t step away from Wikipedia once in a while he’s going to know everything there is to know about swirlies and go stag to the prom.
Have I mentioned the only reason we have a ’67 Mustang is to insure our oldest can someday maybe get a date?
Anyway, my sister sided with him. Stress and grieving weaken one’s physical health. (Which I do know, but I was looking for sympathy. FYI, it’s between shit and syphillis in the dictionary.) She suggested vitamins. Seeing as her post-high school years include a nursing degree from UNH and mine include waiting tables for $2.13 an hour, I usually bow to her in medical matters.
Off I went to Walmart to buy vitamins. Had a ten in my pocket. That’s enough for some decent vitamins.
It’s not my fault Walmart’s floor plan requires me to walk past the book aisle to get to the vitamin aisle. Seriously.
So in my vitamin-less state, is it any wonder I have injured myself again?
I’m a finger-snapper. My mom was a finger-snapper (presumably still is). When Mom’s fingers snap, the whole world freezes. Nobody’s sure who’s doing what wrong, but it’s time to stop.
Talking while Mom’s on the phone? Snap. Bickering in the car? Snap. Making firetruck noises while Mom’s reading a steamy scene in the book she picked up at Walmart? Snap. (Husbands HATE being snapped at, FYI.)
My boys are going through a phase right now in which they’re playing out an epic battle of Obnoxious versus More Obnoxious and the battlefield is always within ten feet of Mom.
Yes, I snapped so hard the knuckle of my right middle fingers is throbbing. I mean, it seriously hurts.
If I go through Lawn & Garden, the vitamin aisle is before the book aisle. Wish me luck.