There is absolutely no adventure too big or trouble too small for my sixty something year old Aunt Bev and myself to get into. Over the years, we’ve had to sneak something back into the store and place it back on the shelf without getting caught after it hopped in Aunt Bev’s purse and she accidentally stole it, have timed our days out perfectly with the days where the weather people say the weather is good but it basically turns into a tornado in a hell storm in zero to four seconds once we are at the furthest point from home, and almost got kicked out of a restaurant. Today, however, topped mostly all of our adventures, even ones to the computer store. The age difference never seems to impair us from getting into trouble.
The day started off innocently enough. For us it was so normal that we knew something was about to go down. Our first inclination of this was that we left the house. Don’t get me wrong, we can get in trouble all by ourselves in her living room, but as soon as we both set one foot outside of the door, it’s on. The universe is prepared for us. The gloves have come off. We made it to Applebee’s alright, but it began and ended there.
Let me just start by saying that we were doomed from the beginning by no fault of our own. We were saddled with a waiter that seemed to have no clue Aunt Bev was at the table. I mean, he noticed her long enough to realize he had to take her order, but he never once, no matter what, looked at her. Every time he talked, he looked at me. As you can imagine, this caused me a great deal of laughter, which forced Aunt Bev to launch into a scenario about how she thought he was hitting on me but was trying to figure out if she was my mom or not and how appropriate it was. Now, every time the waiter came back, I had to pretend like I didn’t think this was hysterical and hold in my laughter. He barely got out of ear shot when I would lose it again. We are not cut out for getting hit on.
I think the waiter decided we were a bit unusual and that he should leave us alone out of being terrified by us, which is when the real fun began. At this point she decides to regal me with a story about how she was asked to Christmas dinner with her friends. She accepted, piled into their car, and then was informed that they had to go pick up a man named Sam. Immediately she saw where this was going. There was no way out of it, so she tried to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. Then, they got to the restaurant. They were eating at a buffet. Many bad first date stories occur around buffets, so, as you can imagine, accidental first date stories are no different. This guy proceeds to pile several plates with shrimp, but only eat half of the shrimp. No, I don’t mean he ate half of the number of shrimp on his plate, but that he ate half of a shrimp and moved on to the next one. Then, in a buffet full of fancy and expensive foods, he decides to eat two sandwiches. As Aunt Bev would say, “Hello! Are you stupid?” After this lovely display, he sits back, pats his stomach, says he’s done and belches. First and last accidental date for her. I laughed so hard I started to cry a little.
Next, we went to Target, which was no better of an idea. We only made it through about five minutes of being in the store before things got ridiculous. Aunt Bev left her cart to go and grab some food, and I stayed with it. I never moved, but I was getting ready to since she was taking awhile and I was worried about what happened to her. I don’t know if I thought she really could get lost in Target or not, but I didn’t want to find out. When she finally came back, this conversation occurred.
Aunt Bev: “Where did you go? I couldn’t find you!”
Me: “I never l moved from where you left me.”
Aunt Bev: “Oh, well I looked everywhere for you!”
Except, of course, for in the aisle she left me. Again, I laughed so hard I almost cried.
Then we hit the wrapping paper aisle. Surprisingly enough, we hit no one with wrapping paper. Trust me, I’m as shocked about it as you are. We ended up with oodles of wrapping paper and ridiculous Christmas cards and, of course, a debacle. Because we can’t pick wrapping paper. We’re women, and we don’t know what we want. It took us way too long to decide between wrapping papers, and in the end I ended up with nine rolls. The cards are a whole other ridiculous story. I now own three boxes.
Without further incident, we took ourselves out of the public eye where we were less likely, but not entirely devoid of opportunities, to get in trouble. Us behaving lasted a few hot seconds after we decided to open Christmas presents. Aunt Bev, knowing my love for Taylor Swift, ordered me this necklace and these earrings off her website. Because Taylor Swift’s website is as incredible as her, they sent this bracelet for free. There was just one problem, I could not figure out how to put it on. Taylor’s tutorial video would have been helpful, except this bracelet had double writing on it and if I followed her video I would be tying the writing in a knot and you’d never see it. The only issue is, it didn’t seem to work any other way. Long story short, it took me an hour to figure out how to do this:
I’ll be wearing this thing to my casket because of that.
Once we composed ourselves and pretended like all of that didn’t really happen, the cats started to come around in light of the crazy lady wrapping up yelling at an inanimate object. Cats keep showing up at Aunt Bev’s and she keeps getting them their shots, spayed or neutered, and takes them in instead of dropping them at a shelter. However, it’s becoming increasingly expensive and she’s going poor doing this, not to mention that she’s becoming the crazy cat lady. Then, very seriously, she looks at me and goes, “I can’t afford to keep spaying the cats I keep finding. I should take them to Animal Friends and say I found the cat, let them spay and neuter the cat and give it its shots for free, and then pay 70 bucks and buy the cat back. It would be cheaper.” I wonder if she’s on to something. I joke, I joke. So does she.
When we composed ourselves, she asked me if she had ever told me about the guy whose last name was Handler. His name was Richard, but he went by Dick. I’m just going to leave you to think about that.