This morning, I walked the dog and fed the pets like always. Then, I called the hospital in New Hampshire, where my mom is staying after her hip replacement, to order flowers to be sent to her room. I know she said no flowers, but I think it is fun to send them anyways. Hospital rooms need some decorations, guests need cheering up, and it is the least I can do since I can’t be there.
The woman at the gift shop who took my information was having a hard time hearing because of all the background noise. I should have made her repeat the full credit card number since after she repeated the first four digits, one of them was wrong. But I didn’t. I should trust my instincts.
I showered and headed to my eye doctor appointment. The office is located in San Jose, and I’ve been enough times that I didn’t ask Siri how to get there. I got lucky and didn’t hit traffic on 280. At the doctor’s office, between the assistant asking me all the good questions about my drinking (yes), smoking (no), and family history (I don’t remember), I was alone in the room for a few minutes when my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize from Vermont.
I answered. I hate those people who do that while in a doctor’s office, but the doctor wasn’t in the room yet. As soon as I started talking, the doctor walked in. Sure enough, the woman at the gift shop had gotten the credit card number wrong. I told her the correct number, hung up, and profusely apologized to the doctor. He said he knows I’m not the kind of person who does that normally, so he figured it was something. I was just trying to be a good daughter.
The doctor went to put drops in my eyes. We had the normal conversation about not dilating my eyes. The last time I had that done was years ago and I came very close to passing out. Sounds got really far away, I had tunnel vision, and I had to lay on the floor with my feet in the air for half an hour. He says that some people have that reaction to it and that they are always good about mentioning it. But these drops were numbing drops so they could touch my eye. I hated the feeling, but I didn’t pass out.
I got to work in time to watch some live blogs about something. Afterwards, there was cake and champagne before lunch. I failed at my diet today. When I start the day with cake and champagne, all bets are off. So being Tuesday, I went for a (veggie) burger with the boys at the normal Tuesday lunch haunt. I do miss hanging with them, but my wallet, my diet, and my liver keep it from being a regular thing. But I was already down the path of no return today, so I might as well enjoy it.
In the afternoon, in an effort to counterbalance earlier mischievousness, I had a half-caf, non-fat, extra ice, iced latte. Just enough caffeine that I suddenly felt ridiculously productive and even figured out the solution to a coding problem I’d been staring at on and off for days. Next thing I knew, it was after 6 pm and I was already late to dinner.
Dog walked, and pets fed again, I headed to dinner in San Jose. I let Siri tell me how to get there and she directed me away from the highway traffic and over surface roads instead. After parking the car, I rang the door bell, but no one answered, so I walked into the house. I figured the hosts are the kind of people who would find this acceptable. They hadn’t heard the doorbell because everyone was hanging out in the backyard enjoying the lovely evening. I was greeted by the most gigantic, gentlest dog I’ve ever met. He decided I was allowed to enter and let me through.
I was asked often how I know the hosts. The answer is always that we met through Mountain Man from Colorado (we are wondering when Mountain Man will be in town next). He’s a common friend in another state, but no, I have never lived in Colorado, I live here. The hosts are known for picking up strays like myself, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise.
At one point, the men separated from the women, and as seems to be a common theme this week, the conversation turned to breasts. Not mine this time, but another woman who had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. So I remind you again, if you are a woman you should get mammograms, and if you are a guy, make sure the women in your life get their mammograms.
Mastectomies, breast replacements, enlargements, and reductions eventually faded away, but somehow dinner conversation evolved into talking about vasectomies and manscaping. It wasn’t me, I swear, since I have no personal knowledge of these things.
Our table of fantastic foods and desserts attracted three female bees, one of which took a nose dive into my wine. She was rescued, but I was on to tea by then anyways, so it wasn’t a problem. I was watching the bees, and one kept falling over as it walked. I asked, “Is it the drunk one that keeps tipping over?” just as one of the women’s chair legs sunk into soft ground and she spilled out of it. “I meant the bee! The bee!” The timing couldn’t have been more perfect and the table erupted in laughter.
Before leaving, I did my best to get Murphy to sit still for a selfie. He’s about as good at getting his photo taken as Perl is. This is the best I got.
That is not a camera trick. I do not have a tiny head. That really is Murphy’s head. He is enormous!
After tea and dessert, I headed home. I could have found my way, but I like to listen to Siri, since she is usually the only guest I have in my car. She took me past the house, down a different road than the one I’d come in on. We turned a corner and suddenly I recognized the street.
I passed my eye doctor’s office and the day had come full circle.