|Yeah, that’s totally not me, it hard to tell, but I don’t have a tattoo.
I’m completely disoriented. It’s summer. Enough said.
This morning I woke up with a slight headache. What can I say, warm night, beckoning patio, a fabulous red wine, house to ourselves. It happens.
Whether I’m angry, bored, celebrating, depressed, or electrified (see how I put those in alpha order), working up a good sweat is a good thing. Draws out all those wondrous endorphins, as if touching the hem of Jesus’ garment with my own hand, and by some miracle I’m healed.
I struggle into a pair of black yoga pants, black sports bra, and black tank as if mourning my own sanity. Quickly brush my teeth, choose to ignore the hair, and head straight to the gym.
Running late seems to be a thing with me lately. I race into the club with only minutes to spare, purchase a water, grab a little white towel and burst into the fitness studio, as if a highly paid executive in-between important meetings. The room is completely empty. What the hell? They found out I was coming?
No. I’m the only one who failed to pick up the new summer schedule. There is no spin class at this particular moment but in fifteen minutes there is a Bodyshred class scheduled. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? The Fargo movie and that creepy guy who tried to shred the dead body? Me too. Maybe I should run?
That would have been a completely reasonable response.
But I’m irrational, I hop on one of the stationary bikes as a warm-up, okay cover-up, like this was my plan all along. In less than ten minutes, the instructor shows up, his name is Bill. The first thing I notice is he has to hold his arms out when he walks or his triceps bump up against his ribs. It’s the gym swag. Currently not my issue.
I immediately tell him about my broken foot (Yes, I’ll be using that sorry excuse for the rest of my life) and how I’m easing back into full usage, “so I might need to make a few minor adjustments to your workout for my foot, I’m sure you understand” I say.
“No problem,” he says, flexing his muscles, and glancing at my perfectly good foot, “you do what’s comfortable. Go at your own pace.” That’s code for I don’t want any heart attacks on my watch.
Okay, Bodyshred is an accurate description, because if I am ninety percent water, I’m pretty sure I lost half my body weight in forty-five minutes. Bill, with the muscular arms, brings us through a series of impossible movements, which we are expected to repeat for thirty seconds, you would think, “I can do anything for thirty seconds,” and you would be dead wrong.
This is worse than spin class, running a marathon, scrubbing scum off the grout in the shower. Absolute torture, when class ends I can barely return the three pound weights to there proper place, and I no longer have any feeling in my legs or arms. I wobble out, tired, sweaty…
For some ungodly reason I can not stop my car from pulling into Lunardi’s Market on Bascom Avenue on the way home from the gym. I know. Damn self driving cars. What can you do? I give myself a little pep talk in the parking lot, I’ll just pick up a small tray of sushi, and walk out. No problem. I won’t even bring a bag. Seriously, I’m that determined.
As if a cathedral, I enter the store reverently, grab a basket just in case I see a little something extra, and aim straight for the organic peaches. They are soft and cool. I wonder if it’s okay to eat one while I shop? My motto is, go for it, you can always apologize later. I walk right past the nut bins (not storage for crazy customers, actual nuts), hand dripping in peach juice, return, discretely taste a few chocolate covered nuts, somehow a bag of pistachios lands in my cart. Just to stretch my legs I walk up and down every aisle, the food is so attractively displayed, it seems unfair. I might need another basket? After abusing the tasting limit at the deli counter (three tastes per customer), I end up with a hundred dollars worth of groceries, forty cents for the bags, and an enormous carton of guilt. What is wrong with me?
That’s rhetorical, not intended to be answered.
The car exceeds the speed limit on the way home. Not my fault. I barely have time to say hello to the dog, whose been waiting by the back door for two hours, just to be patted on the head (there is a lesson embedded in that but for the life of me I can’t find it), because I’m obsessed with the food I have stashed in the trunk of my car. The carton of guilt only a faint memory as the reality of an impending feast moves center stage.
It takes two trips to unload the car, I lay it all out on the counter as if admiring a magnificent treasure, grab a fork, putting down half a pint of tuna in mere seconds (kudos to Steve Armstrong for locating the best tuna in the Bay Area). After a few bites of sushi from one of the three containers, a scoop of orzo salad, and handful of cool ranch Doritos, I muster a little control, load up the refrigerator with the remains of my edibles, tucking (hiding) the loaf of sour dough in the back of the produce drawer. I call this fork food. Meaning you can reach into the frig and eat straight from the container, heating might be required, but that’s it. Feel free to borrow the strategy. It’s sort of brilliant.
I pat my self on the back for grabbing a trio of headbands, the only non-food item in my bags. I figured I’d be more inclined to workout if the sweat wasn’t stinging my eyes. Bravo.
Okay, secondary needs, as most of you know Amazon is having a mega sale today, the same day Jeff Bozos is named richest person in modern history, and I appear to be in a position to add to his mega fortune. I grab a pint of fresh raviolis, shove it into the microwave, while I set up my computer on the kitchen table. Jennifer Hudson says when you’re shopping you forget about eating. Bahaha.
Giddy is a lovely word, much better than frivolous, or vacuous. Don’t you think? Yes, I’ll admit to a slightly giddy sensation as I open my MacBook Air, hastily type Amazon.com in my browser, and my account magically appears. If you notice the black banner at the top of the page, on the right, next to the cart, it says, “Hi Cheryl.” As if running into an old friend, I reach out my hand, gently flexing my fingers in preparation of a lengthy encounter.
The problem with Amazon is Larry and I share a cart. It’s ridiculous. Jeff Bozos, you’re loaded, this is shameful, and easily fixable I imagine. Throw some dough at it, hire an engineer, write a new code, or whatever they do. My son Tony is available and he loves Washington (private message me for his contact into). I believe it was Jeff who said, “we’ve had three big ideas at Amazon that we’ve stuck with for 18 years, and they’re the reason we’re successful: Put the customer first. Invent. And be patient.” Jeff, get on it, I only have so much patience.
As I’m sedulously loading up my cart with rare finds Larry is at work deleting them as fast as they come in. After thirty minutes of painstaking searches for absolute necessities I click on my cart and the only thing saved is a pair of running shoes, mens, size 12. What the hell?
I send an uncomplimentary text to the deleter. [What is your problem?]
[We do not need a unicorn dress, folding adirondack chairs in four different colors, French bath salts, 800 thread count luxury sheets, octopus sprinkler, Nespresso Coffee Maker, silicone face brush, or any more Bob Goff books.]
[When are you going to lunch?]
“Why do I always choose the shopping cart with the squeaky wheel? Is it my bad luck, or are all the carts dysfunctional?” Rachel Nichols
I speed retrieve said items, add some neon bluetooth speakers and plastic tooth picks, but before the order can be placed, everything is deleted. How does he do it?
He claims it’s a hidden talent, I finish off the raviolis, and reach down to pet my dog. I hear Costco is having a sale, maybe I’ll take a drive, stretch my legs, and they have free food samples. Win.
I don’t have a problem. It’s summer. Enough said.
I’m Living in the Gap, drop in anytime, bring a fork.
- On your iPhone you can search Amazon and instantly swipe, by-passing the entire cart, and the deleter. I totally got the unicorn dress for Audrey.
- “What I try to focus on is not to try to stop the march of technological progress. Instead, I try to run faster. If Amazon knows you better than you know yourself, then the game is up.” Yuval Noah Harari
- “What consumerism really is, at its worst is getting people to buy things that don’t actually improve their lives.” Jeff Bezos ~ this is clearly not my issue.