Sometime, somewhere, somehow I was told that if women are frightened by something when they are pregnant it can/will affect the unborn baby that is thoroughly enjoying life (up to that time anyway) in their mama's bulging belly. This I believe to be the absolute truth.
I am quite sure that during the months I spent gestating in the mobile lazy-boy of my mother's womb she must have been scared by a multitude of things. I will mention just a few here.
1. Buttons.
OK, I'm not afraid of buttons. I can touch them, hold them, and have even been known to sew one back on when absolutely necessary. I just hate them. Actually they aren't so bad on their own, but when I have to put them into those little slits in my shirts that they call button holes, I want to vomit. It's too frapping HARD! Even when I was younger and had the nimblest of fingers, it took more time that I was willing to waste just to wear a shirt with a collar. That's why tee-shirts were invented. I still think collared shirts should come with velcro instead. Don't even get me started on those stupid buttons on shirt sleeves that you have to do with one bleeding hand.
2. Peanut Butter.
Why in the world would anyone want to ruin perfectly good and tasty peanuts by turning them into PASTE? Yes, I tried the school paste. It, like peanut butter, smelled so very good but tasted like stuff you would squeeze out of Shaquille's sweat socks. Yuck, no thank you. It's like eating modeling clay and yes, I tried that too.
3. Shoe Laces.
I think this harkens back to the button thing. If they weren't so dorky looking I would wear only velcro shoes.
When I was little and living in Atomic City, Idaho we were about thirty miles from town (Blackfoot). I immensely enjoyed going to town because it meant going to at least one store (or why else would you go) and I could usually whine my Mom into getting me some candy or a toy.
One fine day I got wind of the fact that my brother Stanley was going to be taking my Mom to town as she never learned to drive in her entire 80 years. I immediately began to take up the whiny pleading to be allowed to come along. "Sure!" said Mom. What? Had I wasted my best whining just to have her cave in so soon? "Sure you can come along Ronnie." "As soon as you tie your shoes."
Rats! She had me there. I could no more tie my shoes than I could kiss my own elbow (I tried that too). I was stuck. No town, nor candy, nor toy for young Ronnie. Or so they thought. I trudged off looking as forlorn as I possibly could then ran around to the back of the trailer where the station wagon was parked and hid in the back.
And waited, and waited, and waited. I waited until I could see that we were about to cross the Snake River bridge that has Blackfoot/Camelot waiting on the other side. I jumped up and hollered, "Guess how I tied my shoes?"
At this point Stanley drove into the ditch.
After we got back on the road, Mom finally got her blood pressure down to the point where she could speak once again and asked, "How did you tie your shoes?" "The wind tied them," says I.
They were indeed tied and to this day I have no recollection as to how they got that way.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Great Post Dad!!! Keep them coming!
As if mothers don't have enough to feel guilty about, now I have to feel guilty about my feelings when I was carrying a baby who was sitting on my bladder! People existed long before they were born, maybe there were buttons in the pre-existence meant to teach people patience :)
I always thought it was weird you didn't like no-bake cookies. That is insane. Now I know why. The buttons thing cracks me up and makes me start to wonder--why don't we see more velcro on shirts? Hmm. And why do only little kids have good velcro shoes? We are never going to have flying cars at this rate. :)
Post a Comment