Tonight, after doing yoga for about the 10th time on slick tile with no mat and almost falling on my face everytime I tried the downward facing dog pose, I was determined to buy a sticky mat. Determined.
So, after covering the red, inflamed, swollen, misshapen lump of flesh that was previously my face with copious amounts of makeup, my father, sister, and I set out in the twilight. I was driving; never a good idea as I cannot back out without hitting a squirrel, pedestrian, ect. My father, who is constantly bracing for impact every time I approach a turn, feels it is his duty to randomly shout out driving tips and safety catious anecdotes - several times when it is nonapplicable to the situation.
For example - I will be driving along a straight stretch of roadway, carefully going at exactly the speed limit, and he will burst out, like somed kind of automated answering service - "Slow down! Remember to do hand over hand turns! Put your lights on!" and one more "Slow down!" just for good measure. Then, trying to instill a sense of driving fear, he will begin ominously, "Did I ever tell you about my friend back in high school, Little Timmy? He didn't check his mirrors before he left the driveway one day and..." at which point I will begin to hum 'Hey Ya!' and focus on the trees.
We arrived safely at the Sports Authority ("Slow down in the parking space! You're going too fast!") where I happily bought a sticky blue yoga mat, and my father flirted with the idea of buying rediculous oriental looking work out pants. I desperately was able to convince him otherwise by remarking that he looked like a new Samurai addition to the Village People.
Moving swiftly away in the darkness, we headed towards Blockbuster, where I intended to buy 'Breakfast at Tiffany's" once and for all and be done with it. Pressing myself against the outside wall, panic-stricken, my eyes darted back and forth. "What is wrong with you?" My father said, looking as if I should join the cast of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'.
"John's there." I hissed back. John was a twenty-something college student/Blockbuster employee who still lived with his mother, and had a desperate crush on me, fueled by the incident that occured this past Christmas. I was waiting outside Publix, trying to, admittedly, avoid John because he was a tad creepy, when he spotted me and strode quickly over. After chatting about the weather, movies, and one's health, there was a lull in the conversation.
"Are you avoiding me?" he asked heartbreakingly. Feeling like a terrible, terrible person, lower than scum, I gushed in a bizarre effort to overcompensate for being caught -
"Oh no. I was just, um..." I motioned in the Publix area. "Buying groceries." I attempted a tinkly laugh. "No, I absolutely adore you."
"Really?" he said breathlessly. It was at that moment I was rescued by my thankfully overprotective father, who shot John a dirty look and ushered me back to the car.
Back in the present...
I wanted Breakfast at Tiffany's more than I wanted to avoid John, so, taking a deep breath, I looked towards my two companions.
"If we don't come out of there, I just want you to know..." I began tearfully, only to be pushed inside. I slunk to the 'Drama' section unseen, quickly rooting through the B's. "Boom times...Breakfast Club..." I murmured under my breath, only to emerge with no DVD. Blockbuster, apparently, had no respect for the classics. As I was leaving, I was spotted by John who, busy with another customer, thankfully had no time to chat. I waved hello, and he grinned in a longing, wistful kind of way, and I left - unbreakfasted but also unassaulted.
So, after covering the red, inflamed, swollen, misshapen lump of flesh that was previously my face with copious amounts of makeup, my father, sister, and I set out in the twilight. I was driving; never a good idea as I cannot back out without hitting a squirrel, pedestrian, ect. My father, who is constantly bracing for impact every time I approach a turn, feels it is his duty to randomly shout out driving tips and safety catious anecdotes - several times when it is nonapplicable to the situation.
For example - I will be driving along a straight stretch of roadway, carefully going at exactly the speed limit, and he will burst out, like somed kind of automated answering service - "Slow down! Remember to do hand over hand turns! Put your lights on!" and one more "Slow down!" just for good measure. Then, trying to instill a sense of driving fear, he will begin ominously, "Did I ever tell you about my friend back in high school, Little Timmy? He didn't check his mirrors before he left the driveway one day and..." at which point I will begin to hum 'Hey Ya!' and focus on the trees.
We arrived safely at the Sports Authority ("Slow down in the parking space! You're going too fast!") where I happily bought a sticky blue yoga mat, and my father flirted with the idea of buying rediculous oriental looking work out pants. I desperately was able to convince him otherwise by remarking that he looked like a new Samurai addition to the Village People.
Moving swiftly away in the darkness, we headed towards Blockbuster, where I intended to buy 'Breakfast at Tiffany's" once and for all and be done with it. Pressing myself against the outside wall, panic-stricken, my eyes darted back and forth. "What is wrong with you?" My father said, looking as if I should join the cast of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'.
"John's there." I hissed back. John was a twenty-something college student/Blockbuster employee who still lived with his mother, and had a desperate crush on me, fueled by the incident that occured this past Christmas. I was waiting outside Publix, trying to, admittedly, avoid John because he was a tad creepy, when he spotted me and strode quickly over. After chatting about the weather, movies, and one's health, there was a lull in the conversation.
"Are you avoiding me?" he asked heartbreakingly. Feeling like a terrible, terrible person, lower than scum, I gushed in a bizarre effort to overcompensate for being caught -
"Oh no. I was just, um..." I motioned in the Publix area. "Buying groceries." I attempted a tinkly laugh. "No, I absolutely adore you."
"Really?" he said breathlessly. It was at that moment I was rescued by my thankfully overprotective father, who shot John a dirty look and ushered me back to the car.
Back in the present...
I wanted Breakfast at Tiffany's more than I wanted to avoid John, so, taking a deep breath, I looked towards my two companions.
"If we don't come out of there, I just want you to know..." I began tearfully, only to be pushed inside. I slunk to the 'Drama' section unseen, quickly rooting through the B's. "Boom times...Breakfast Club..." I murmured under my breath, only to emerge with no DVD. Blockbuster, apparently, had no respect for the classics. As I was leaving, I was spotted by John who, busy with another customer, thankfully had no time to chat. I waved hello, and he grinned in a longing, wistful kind of way, and I left - unbreakfasted but also unassaulted.
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