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Day #310: Fresh Batch of Tired

The Story:

A glass o’ wine

I’m feeling fine.

 *

A mouthful of dough, marinara and cheese

One more slice? Yes please.

 *

Would we like dessert?

I guess sharing a chocolate soufflé couldn’t hurt.

 *

All caught up on girl talk

After all I ate tonight, glad I got in my afternoon walk.

 *

Snuggled up on the couch

Finally feeling like less of a grouch.

 *

A bit nervous about tomorrow, hope it goes well…

Ready for it to be over, but how it will go, I can’t really tell.

 *

To keep me from fretting and needless worry

Think I’ll go to bed now, while it’s still early.

 

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Sorry for the riddles, but my mind is a pulsating weary grey blob at the moment, so it will just have to suffice. Met up with my friend Joanna tonight for a much needed girls’ night and glass of vino. It’s always a great time when we get together, but the moment we parted ways to go to our respective cars, as if on cue, I began to grow incredibly tired. I guess the wine combined with the long day at work, working out (and sweating to death in the 83 degree heat), a little too much pizza/chocolate souffle and an early appointment tomorrow (more on that, well… tomorrow) I’m soooo ready to hit the hay… as they say. Plus, since Andy’s computer died, he’ll be needing mine now so… until tomorrow sweet readers!

Love & Squirrels.

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Day #264: Dinner’s Up!

The Story:

“No, really… it’s good,” Heidi stammered as she forced another bite of the unidentifiable ‘dish’ into her mouth. Praying her gag reflex would decide to take the night off, Heidi plastered a smile on her face and slowly chewed.

Dylan watched her chew and knew she was miserable. Heidi had always been a terrible liar. Dylan tried not to laugh as he watched his wife finally choke down the bite she had been chewing like cud for the last five minutes. He had barely touched his own plate. Tonight had been his night to cook and as usual, he refused to follow a recipe, instead he relied on his “winging it” technique. This ‘technique’ left the rice undercooked, the beef chewy and the seasoning, well, it varied from nonexistent to tear-inducing depending on the bite.

Heidi gulped down several large mouthfuls of water and accessed her plate. She had barely made a dent. “I can’t do this,” she thought desperately to herself as she absently nodded at something Dylan had just said. She briefly contemplated just telling him she couldn’t eat what he had prepared, but she choked that thought down like a piece of his overcooked beef. For weeks she had subtly encouraged him to help her out in the kitchen and now that he had, she was loath to say anything that might cause him to give up his new-found enthusiasm. Heidi pushed the food around on her plate, “At the worst, I’ll lose those last few pounds I’ve been working on,” she thought half-heartedly.

Watching his wife and guessing at the internal battle she was struggling with, Dylan decided to give he an out, “Babe, it’s ok. You don’t have to eat it.” The look of relief quickly camouflaged by her determination to be polite was too much for him and Dylan burst out in laughter. “Seriously, it’s awful, I know it is… I can barely stomach it and we both know I eat anything. So stop trying to be polite for my sake, my feelings won’t be hurt, honest,” he said getting up from his place at the table and making his way to where she sat. Not waiting for her to feign protest, he scooped up her plate and dumped it, with his into the sink.

“Next time, I’ll pick out a recipe,” Dylan said good-naturedly, “as for tonight, how does grabbing a slice at Giovanni’s sound?”

Sighing and thanking her stars for such a good humored husband, Heidi grabbed her coat and answered, “It sounds like heaven”.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      I’m not a very good cook. I’m easily distracted, terrible at planning and typically forget one or two key ingredients or steps along the way. Having said that, I think Andy is worse (and I say that with love). When the boyfriend decides to cook, it’s usually at the spur of the moment, random ingredients tossed in at whim, rice and whatever meat is in the freezer (that is not reserved for the wolf dog) and a myriad of spices that usually have no business ever meeting. The cooking technique is usually his version of stir-fry and if you ask if he’s ever considered using a recipe his reply is, “what’s the fun in that?”. So basically, he approaches cooking like a science experiment… that we’re intended to eat. Tonight was no different. And while it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, let’s just say there was something left to be desired. I always struggle in these situations, while I sincerely appreciate his effort and enthusiasm to cook us a meal, being quite the persnickety eater I don’t know if my taste buds can take much more. By his own admission, tonight’s meal was no winner, and he actually advised me not to eat it (after scarfing down a bowl he felt a little off). With that in mind, I think I’ll spend the rest of the evening for easy recipes we can print out for future meals… meals we will both want to actually eat.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #234: Order Ready for “Pam”

The Story:

She sneaks around in dark alleyways and bums cigarettes from strangers.

She never wears her seatbelt and thinks airbags are for sissies.

Taxes? Phfft… paying taxes is for suckers.

Her favorite foods are tomatoes, tuna fish straight from the can and anything with banana flavoring.

She tosses anything homemade; gifts that aren’t bought from a store are just a cheap person’s way of copping out.

She can’t make a cheesecake to save her life… not that she would want to.

She’s definitely a cat person.

Gifted with numbers, she can do basic algebra in her head and rarely relies on a calculator.

She hates books and thinks the written word is on its way out… good riddance.

She’s an avid runner and will take any opportunity to show off her washboard abs.

I have pledged to eat a cookie every time I see a girl pulling up her shirt to show off her freakish abs on Pinterest...

She only needs about three hours of sleep to function and feels ‘off’ if she gets any more than six.

In her spare time she prefers to do yoga, pre-plan her meals for the upcoming week and weed her front lawn.

She became addicted to coffee when she was ten and requires at least three cups throughout the day.

She sports a glowing tan year-round.

Dubstep is her life.

She loves having her picture taken and being the center of attention.

She has a beautiful singing voice.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Ever get called by the wrong name and forget to correct the person who made the mistake, choosing instead to just go with it? Hi, my name is apparently Pam. Or, at least it was to the guy taking my order over the phone at our favorite pizza place. As soon as he confirmed my order (which he also got wrong) I knew he had misheard the name I provided for the order- it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been mistaken for a Pam. The experience got me thinking that maybe Pam was just my alter ego- someone with the exact opposite taste and preferences as me. Since I hate tomatoes and coffee, Pam LOVES tomatoes and can’t live without her java. I detest having my picture taken (thanks to my awkward smiles, and ‘what do I do with my hands?’ poses) but Pam, well Pam loves hamming it up for anyone with a camera. You get the drift. So reread the list above and you’ll have a clearer idea of who I am… by who I’m not.

TWO:    Had my first exposure to dubstep today, thanks to le boyfriend who was blasting it from my poor little Honda Civic speakers when he can to pick me up from work today. Let’s just say, I’m not a fan (it’s god awful).

exactly...

Love & Squirrels.

 

Day #61: Someone Got Fresh

Posted on

The Story:

 

How Bathroom Deodorizer Spray Almost Ruined my Life

by Teri Bales

An excerpt:

Our marriage was typical, or so I thought; it had its ups and downs but for the better part of 10 years we were happy, and happy to be together. That all almost came crashing down one not-so-special June evening. After a busy Sunday afternoon of yard work and the standard errands to the home improvement store, big box store and a few other shops, Ted and I returned home completely wiped out. Ready for a late Sunday afternoon nap, we both sprawled out on the couch, when I happened to glance at the calendar on the fridge. “Oh, crap,” I said, “I have that stupid dinner tonight, I completely forgot,” I said in answer to my husband’s grunt of inquiry. “Have fun!” Ted chuckled as he settled further into the couch and almost immediately dozed off. “Typical,” I groaned and willed myself off of the couch and towards the shower.

The dinner was uneventful, I think I met my cousin from Dayton, Ohio at a nondescript restaurant, but to be honest, I don’t really remember. What I do remember is what I ate, and not for the reason you might imagine. I ordered a petite fillet and for dessert I splurged on a giant piece of chocolate amaretto cheesecake, which I quickly regretted. You see, I am a sufferer of that less-than-sexy syndrome you may know as IBS, or Irritable Bowel Syndrome (lovely I know, bear with me). Without getting into too many graphic details, I soon found myself cordoned off in the far stall of the Ladies Restroom of that fine establishment. After about 10 minutes or so I successfully convinced my dear cousin to go ahead home with the promise to call once I found myself able to leave my newly acquired porcelain throne.

Finally, feeling it was safe to reemerge, I quickly sprayed the bathroom spray provided, a lovely forest pine scent, washed my hands and exited the restroom.

Arriving home about an hour later, I was exhausted from my gastro-phy and all I wanted was a hot shower and my bed. Not to be. Upon my entry, I greet my husband with a brief hug and peck on the cheek before turning to go into our bedroom. “Where have you been?” The question didn’t throw me off as much as the tone my husband used. “What do you mean?” I asked him with honest confusion. “I told you, I had that dinner tonight, with my cousin, remember?” I half believed Ted was screwing with me or at the worst his memory was starting to fail him a little. Never would I have guessed he had infidelity on his mind. “Oh really? That’s funny, cause I called your cousin about 45 minutes ago and she said you stayed at the restaurant after she left,” it was obvious this was no joke.

Now, I’m not proud of this, but in the 12 years of being with Ted, I had managed to keep my IBS a secret. It was something I was embarrassed about, and let’s face it, there nothing sexy about this syndrome. So, faced with the choice of providing a false alibi or explaining to the man I shared a life (and a bathroom) with that I was prone to ‘potty emergencies’ of the worst kind, I was leaning towards lying as being the safer bet. “She must have misheard me, Ted. I left the restaurant just a few minutes after Shelly,” I fudged.

“I see. So now you’re lying to me,” Ted shook his head in disbelief. “I know you were with someone, Teri. I could smell his cologne on your blouse,” he said sadly. My mind was racing, cologne? What could he possibly be referring to? Did I knock into someone, a waiter perhaps at the restaurant? I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about and told him so. He didn’t like that. After going around and around, arguing into the night, Ted eventually stormed out of the house and didn’t come back for days. I sat stunned on my bedroom floor, surrounded by discarded tear-stained tissues and tried to make sense of what had just happened. How had things deteriorated so quickly? How could my loving husband morph into this crazed, jealous angry person? And where had he gotten the notion that I had been with another man, what phantom cologne had he smelled?

Taking off the blouse that had started it all, I brought it to my nose for a good sniff. Pine.

“Oh God, you have got to be joking,” I almost laughed at the idiocy of it all. Somehow I had sprayed myself with the restroom deodorizer spray from the restaurant and Ted had mistakenly believed that it was another man’s cologne.

 ___

For more from Teri Bales’ best seller How Bathroom Deodorizer Spray Almost Ruined my Life, send check or money order for $14.95 (+ S&P) to Dyer Straights Publishers, LLC at 110 23rd Ave. New York, New York. And next year look out for the made for TV movie based on this #1 seller coming to the Lifetime Channel in December.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

This is an actual product...

ONE:      In celebration of Father’s Day and my step-dad’s birthday, I endulged with a big ‘ol piece of chocolate amaretto cheesecake (and pizza, and Publix sweet tea). I should know better. The combo of caffeine, sugar and rich food was not good, as my mom’s bathroom soon bore witness to (classy, ain’t I?). While I’m not officially diagnosed as having IBS ( I refused the stool sample… I just couldn’t do do it, haha) I’m 95% certain that I suffer from a degree of this syndrome, and have since high school. It’s triggered by stress, certain foods or combinations of foods and when it hits, oooo boy! Pray that there is an available latrine for this gal, and it’s not occupied. Ok, enough of that talk.

TWO:    Upon recovering from my most recent bout of IBS, I utilized the bathroom spray that was conveniently located on the back of my mom’s guest room toilet. “Forest Pine” is what I think it was called, so I gave it a few squirts…which immediately enveloped me like a piney-fresh mist.  Several minutes later, on my drive back home, I kept getting a whiff of this subtle but masculine scent and couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Finally, I sniffed my shirt and realized that the deodorizer had soaked into my shirt so that it smelled as if I had rubbed elbows, and perhaps more, with a lumberjack or woodsman of some sort. That got my imagination going, what if some jealous husband or wife or whatever got all worked up over nothing more than a room spray? The thought tickled me and I thought it was too funny not to explore a little.

...I like to press wildflowers!

Love &  Squirrels.