Dodo Eggs

 I’m on the phone with my wife.  We start our conversation with recent developments, what the kids have broken lately, and conclude with a rundown on the dumb things our relatives are doing.  As the call winds down, I’m hoping to reach the obligatory “I love you” without any errands. 

This time – there’s no such luck.   “Matt, could you stop by the store on your way home and pick up…”

 What follows is never anything useful.  It’s never ice cream, a new football, potato chips, or ice cream.  It’s alway the worst stuff possible…if God wanted me to purchase feminine products, he would have made me a woman! It’s either that or diapers NIETHER OF WHICH improve my social status.  Making matters worse are the details you need to know in order to select the correct feminine product.  Finding the right one takes some time and concentration.  I look like I’m standing in front of the library’s reference section trying to find a banana.

 So here’s the story…I’m sitting in the aquatics office with a few of the other lifeguards.  I call Melissa and we quickly roll through developments, children, and relatives before she begins, “I need you to stop at the store and pick a couple things up.  I need a turkey baster and a hula hoop.”

 “What!?”  I protest.  I’m going to be home late as it is.  “You need a hula hoop and a turkey baster tonight?!”

 Both of the other guards lift their heads.  I can read the sly grins on their faces right away.  “Alright,”  I say into the phone.  “I’ll pick them up.  I love you…bye.”

 Immediately, Ashley pipes in, “Wow Mr. T!  What ARE you and Mrs. T doing tonight?”

 “Basting birds while hula hooping.  What does it sound like?”

 Things took a frustrating turn at Wal-Mart.  All of the hula hoops were pretty colors like hot pink, fuchsia, or neon pink. (By the way, there’s no good way to hide the fact you’re carrying a pink hula hoop – under the arm, between the legs, nothing works.)  The self-checkout was the only thing open so I stepped in behind a Latino couple.  When I reached the screen, I expected an option to switch back to English- I didn’t get one.

 “No problemo.”  I mumble.  “It’s not like I can’t figure it out.”

 What I couldn’t figure out was how to scan a hula hoop on a flat scanner.  The attendant had to come over and type in the UPC code quatro times for it to go in.  When she finished, she handed me the toy and walked off but my problems weren’t solved.  I wound up on a screen that offered me one option  which, of course, took me no where.  (I’m not positive but I think the machine was using some vulgar Spanish – just a hunch.)  The attendant eventually returned and the pink hula hoop and I made our way to the door.

 As I passed the greeter, he reached out and took my arm.  I’m guessing he’d watched my whole ordeal and wanted a parting shot.  “Hey son, how about a demonstration?”

  Addendum:  The hula hoop Melissa wanted for a little exercise / the baster was to take cream off the top of the raw milk we get every week.

• A Collection of Eggshells
• Snowball Effect
• The Wonders of Children
• Geographical Nonsense
• Gender is Easy