I had an interesting morning. It started with me running late...and it ended with me burning my hand. Okay, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but sometimes I can be a bit ditsy. When I was in 6th grade, I asked my mom how to make popcorn. She said, "take it out of the box, put it in the microwave, and press the popcorn button." (in a slightly sarcastic tone that meant I should have known how to make popcorn by age 12). So I followed her instructions exactly. But she never mentioned anything about taking the popcorn out of the plastic bag! It became known as the infamous popcorn debacle of 1999. Our kitchen smelled terrible for days, and I was banned from cooking for the majority of my adolescent and young adult years.
Then, a few years later, I became a member of Team GAP. That's right, I worked my way through college by constantly tidying piles of messy clothes and convincing customers that they needed to purchase that amazingly colorful cable-knit. I hated it. When I first began, they put me in charge of cleaning out the fitting rooms. The fitting rooms were always messy, and I dreaded it. One day, in the midst of the holiday shopping season, I was in extreme stress mode. Must...clean...fitting....rooms...now. I walked into a very messy fitting room, grabbed three pairs of pants that were strewn about the floor, walked out of the fitting room, folded each of them and put them back neatly on the shelf. As I was folding the last pair, however, I noticed that they were exceptionally warm, and they necessarily didn't look like the style of jeans that we typically sell. Not thinking much of it, I lackadaisically placed them on the jean shelf. Moments later, I noticed a man modeling a pair of jeans for his girlfriend outside of the fitting room I had just cleaned. SHOOOT! I had a moment of panic as I realized that I had folded the pants that the man came into the store wearing. I had just put his own pants on the shelf to sell! Wallet, keys, and all. How in the world could I be so clumsy??? I raced across the store, grabbed his pants off the shelf, and hastily threw them back into his fitting room before he returned from modeling the jeans for his laayyydayyy. The man never noticed, but my co-workers never let me live it down.
Okay, so back to how I burned my hand this morning. As I was rushing to get ready for work, I grabbed the pants that I planned on wearing today. But the pockets on the rear were sticking straight up! Darn. I didn't have time to heat up the iron downstairs, but hey--wait a minute! My curling iron was still hot. I put my pants on the toilet lid, and pressed the hot iron over the first pocket. Yes! It worked. Then, I moved to the next one. I pressed the iron over the second pocket. But this pocket was being stubborn. So I tried to strategically "roll" the curling iron over it. Bad idea. I looked down and realized that the most vulnerable and tender part of my hand was pressed firmly against the hot curling iron. YOOWWWZZAAAAHHH! Yes, it hurt. Anyways, long story short, even though I may seem wise beyond my years, I still do have the occasional ditsy/clumsy/blonde moment many years after the infamous popcorn debacle. You may have noticed that in my blog description I have the words, "accident-prone" in describing myself. Now you know why.
I have some great news that doesn't involve burnt popcorn, warm pants, or scolded palms. I'm going to be driving down to South Carolina with Robbie tomorrow morning to visit Deanna. I'm so excited! Robbie and I decided that since we both really wanted to visit Deanna and the Dollars before Christmas, we might as well make the 3-hour trek together. We're going to give Deanna her Christmas presents too. This is the first year that we'll be able to see Deanna open her gifts, so I'm really looking forward to seeing that and spending some alone time with Don and De. They're such great people. Check back soon for pictures and updates on our fun-filled family Christmas visit.
Here are Deanna's latest gymnastic pictures...
Can you believe how big she is getting? She's such a sweet pea.
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