You know how sometimes, you try to be cool and it really works and everyone is impressed with how elegant or beautiful or cool or amazing you are. Ya me neither.
Here is an instance of how it goes when I try to be cool.
So Ross and I were headed out into the hills delivering a load of brick to a job site. A new venture for us both, and exciting for me as I love going to new places.
We wound our way up a narrow road. As Ross called it, “very squiggly.” We passed through an elite section, mansions tucked back among the trees. White picket fences surrounding beautifully manicured acreages and wealth dripping from the elegant turrets of the houses.
After awhile we arrived at a new subdivision, in the very beginning stages of dirt work and wet cement. We pulled up the narrow boulevard. Ross did a fine job maneuvering between vehicles and stacks of building supplies.
We reached the spot where the loader was waiting to unload us. You know how it is at a brand-new place…you want to make a good impression. You’d like to be efficient, professional, and look good all at the same time.
I hopped out of the truck, pulled on my gloves, and set to work rolling up straps. I imagined the loader guy watching me and thinking, “Man she really knows how to do it!”
Then I felt something in my boot. Something that did not belong there. I discreetly looked down and to my astonishment, there was a long orange apparatus sticking a good 9″ out of the top of my cowboy boot.
One of the nifty sticks you use to seal chip bags with. (It’s something my mom-in-law introduced to us. She found them at a craft show and is sure they are the best things invented after the light bulb.)
I will admit they are quite handy. But not exactly at this moment, and definitely not in my boot. What could I do but yank it out?
I laughed to myself and still to this day, I have no idea how it got in my boot.
This seems to be a lifelong problem with me, clear back when I was 12 or 13. Probably some book I read about graceful princesses had inspired me. I had the hair-brained scheme at a wedding with a couple of my friends to try “floating” down the stairs at the church. I was sure it couldn’t be that hard to move rapidly and so effortlessly down the steps.
Of course, I ended up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, in my heels and Sunday best. And right then, the door opened and a whole passel of boys came in.
I could tell you many more such instances but I will save them for another time.
So long, and good luck with being cool!
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