I got home from work about an hour ago, and I had a fabulous entry all planned out in my head about my crazy morning helping the people who run swim team practice. Then before I could get to my computer, I unleashed the rage* on my dad and sister. When I sat down, I realized I didn't need to get the story off my chest so badly anymore.
Another story I have been gushing about (but have yet to grow weary of) happened at Dick's the other day. Scott and I were looking at shoes, and when I saw these:
I scoffed. "What ugly shoes!" I said. "Why do people wear those? I wouldn't be caught DEAD in them!"
Then I tried them on.
There is a pair being shipped to me from Atlanta, GA, because although I didn't purchase them RIGHT THERE, I couldn't stop thinking about them. I looked at the website, read the testimonials, and between that and the memory of HOW GOOD THEY FELT ON MY FEET, my credit card practically entered its own number into the computer itself--THAT'S how much each iota of my being wanted to wear those shoes again.
And, a list:
Three Things I'd Never Done Before the Last Week
1. Helped pull a golden retriever from the swimming pool (amidst a crowd of clapping SWIM TEAM MOTHERS!!! Who were clapping for the DOG, their "new team mascot!!!") (Maybe the rage is still there...?)
2. Visited the chiropractor (Best. Thing. EVER.)
3. Cleaned up puke using that sawdust stuff (this job, it's so glamorous)
*I generally attempt to be a nice person, but occasionally I snap and feel like I am filled with rage. Bring up the topic inducing these feelings? I unleash the rage (as much as I can, because let's face it, I'm not really cut out to be any of the adjectives you'd think a rage-crazed person would be). I can only recall two instances of this in the past six months; one was this morning.