"I have no idea," I told her. She looked confused. "No, seriously," I said. "We don't talk to each other about mulch at all. I do my thing, he does his."
Look, we would like to stay married, all right? This is what it takes. I don't know why people don't understand that.
And if you doubt some of our troop parents' dedication to this project, let me tell you that my main food-tent staffer cancelled a chemo appointment on Friday, just so she would be up to the task of making coffee and hotdogs and grilled cheese all day Saturday. THAT's commitment.
Of course, that also made my leaving mid-afternoon to take a nap look pretty pathetic. But hey, I'm not trying to win any awards here.
|See how happy and relaxed they look, loading their truck? That wasn't us.|
I spent most of the evening standing by the cones at the entrance to the parking lot, making sure people heading to the high school baseball game didn't drive in where we were loading the trucks all day. I just realized that I made a point of complaining to the other woman there that I am better off pacing back and forth than standing still like that - standing still makes my leg hurt in this weird way, you know, like my knee cap falls asleep and then it spreads down my calf and up to my hip.
The woman working the entrance with me? She was using one of those electric scooters. As in, she can't really walk much at all. In retrospect, I'm sure she really felt sorry for me and my achy leg.
I'm such a dope sometimes. I mean, really.
[Truck image: Move Ahead]