I stopped by the T&S office the other day. You might assume I have a desk and computer there, but I don’t. I am writing this on my laptop at home while drinking coffee and eating a muffin. Anyway, I had a half-hour to kill and needed a place to eat my lunch. I stopped by The Woman’s Exchange and picked up a sliced chicken sandwich and chocolate chip cookie. I know everyone raves about their salads, but really, their chicken sandwiches are the way to go. I ate the cookie for an appetizer as I drove to the office (answering the question I always ask my doctor, “Why can’t I lose weight?”). The T&S editorial department shares one office, so I plopped myself down and started eating and chatting. They are a nice, fun group and never seem to criticize, but they mentioned that lately, my columns had been a bit dark. I seemed to talk about death quite a bit. Hmmm. Then I said that I wanted to get a new picture taken for my column because my hair is longer now, and someone who I won’t name, but who always writes the editor’s letter, said my hair looked cute short.
I left the office wondering if I was a Never Happy. If any of you watched Arrested Development, you may remember one of the characters, Tobias, was afraid of being naked, so he was part of a group called the Never Nudes. I wondered if there was a cult called Never Happy, and I should join it. And well, my hair, I’ve mentioned before that it’s false advertising. From behind, my long hair makes me look younger, but sadly, when I turn around, the person often is surprised to see my almost 60-year-old face. Was it time for me to get a sensible bob again?
As I left to go to my physical therapy session, I had a lot to think about. But first, I should explain why I’m going to physical therapy. A few weeks ago, my husband and I were in Chicago to help my daughter move into her apartment. We met friends for dinner at a restaurant about a mile away. Because of Chicago parking, it’s usually easier to walk. As we got near the restaurant, my husband pointed to a guy on a hoverboard who was texting and said, “That’s an accident waiting to happen.” And with that, I tripped on the sidewalk and fell. It was not a graceful fall; mine never are. People stopped to help. I am past the point of embarrassment and was just happy that blood was not seeping through my white jeans. I wobbled to dinner, returned to St. Louis the next day and got an X-ray of my knee. My doctor sent me to physical therapy for treatment of my knee and shoulder and to learn how to walk correctly. Apparently, I walk like a caterpillar. Once you get to a certain age, your doctor doesn’t think you can bounce back from your tumbles like you used to. It is a little humbling but also a lot funny.
So, I still had to figure out if I was a Never Happy and decided that no, I’m just a little cranky and snarky and really, isn’t that why you read this column? Oh, and about my hair, it is still long and someday, I will become sensible and cut it. I am not sure when, but it won’t be anytime soon. My next column will be about flowers and butterflies, I promise. NOT.