The sun was shining brightly after a week of rain. I only had three loads of laundry instead of five. The chicken I took out for dinner didn’t have freezer burn. My jeans zipped up without me having to lie down to do it. It was going to be a great day.
After my Saturday morning chores, I went to a wine festival with my girlfriend. The kid at the gate carded me. After he unwrapped himself from my grateful hugs, he informed me over my girlish giggles that he was told to card anyone that looked under 80. Kids young enough to be my children should not be allowed at a wine festival.
I was determined to enjoy the day. I walked over to the first display, started down the steps and fell right on my behind. Holding back tears, I gratefully accepted the hand of a stranger. “I haven’t even had any wine yet!” I told him as I tried to find my girlfriend in the crowd of onlookers. He just started shaking his head and laughing. As he walked away I heard him say to his wife, “It’s sad when they try to deny the problem, isn’t it?” She just clucked her tongue and walked over to grab another glass of Chardonnay. I sat to wait for my girlfriend, who had donned a pair of dark glasses and pretended she didn’t see me. Once she saw my face, however, she felt guilty and brought me a taste of Merlot.
“Here”, she said. “I don’t think you need to have anymore than this – it seems you may already be over your limit”. At least she didn’t cluck her tongue as she drank her Chardonnay.
Later that night, I examined the newly spreading bruise on my behind. It really did look neat. I mean, it’s the neatest bruise that I've ever seen. Purple and blue and green. It even has a lovely, white, lacy pattern to it. I've never seen anything like it. I was so proud. I showed my husband. He said, "Hmmm - isn't it interesting that stretch marks don't bruise?"
So much for the great day.
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