Have you had one of those days when
you just couldn’t get your ducks in a row?
You need to get resourceful on those challenging days!
Last week, I was powering through my day
(I have 2 speeds …
Zoom and Comatose.)
Mr. 4-Ever and I needed to be at a funeral by 4:00pm
and I was behind.
There was zero time to redo my perfect messy bun hairdo,
so I looked frantically for bottom options
that wouldn’t disturb the delicate balance that was on top of my head.
I squeezed into a pencil skirt from the back of my closet,
took a quick look in the full-length mirror,
Tight, but it would have to do.
I grabbed my purse and jumped in the car
waiting for me in the driveway with the motor running.
As Mr. 4-Ever exited the driveway,
I realize the skirt I’ve chosen is
It looked fine when I was standing,
but when I sat down,
it hiked up and stretched tightly around my legs.
Great choice for date night, but not for a funeral.
Don’t panic, I think to myself,
as long as I don’t sit down at the visitation,
I should be ok.
I’ll just mingle…a lot!
But then, a beam of sunlight hit my knees.
Girlfriend, it looked like a porcupine was sitting in my lap!
Hunkered down in my office for weeks
under the writing deadline I was racing,
I hadn’t bothered to shave my legs for about,
about a 1/2” long period of time!
My legs were covered with long prickles.
“Oh NO!” I cried.
“What is it!” asks Mr. 4-Ever with genuine alarm.
He hates it when I do that
Aaarrgh! Gasp! thing women do in the car
when there is not what they consider an actual emergency.
“My skirt is too short and the hair on my legs is too long!”
He looks over at my hairy legs,
sees what I have just discovered
and immediately goes into fix-it mode.
Mr 4-Ever has a trunk full of tools,
a Swiss army knife,
all manner of MacGyver solutions in his pocket
but he does not have a longer skirt for me.
“Wait!” I say.
“Don’t you have an electric razor in here?”
There is a pause as he is catching up with my plan.
“Let me use it to shave my legs!” I say gleefully
now having solved at least half my problem.
We have been married
exactly long enough for him to know
it’s pointless to withhold his shaver from me
and reluctantly surrenders it.
I go to town
buzzing my legs as we cruise down the highway.
By the time we arrive at the funeral parlor,
I am smooth as a baby’s behind.