Sometimes I amuse myself. Sometimes I outright embarrass myself and my family. They won’t admit to being embarrassed though because they love me, quirks and all.
Fortunately, I choose to embrace the embarrassment because it always makes for a good story.
You may wonder at my title, This Week I Was a Cougar. So here’s the story behind the title:
I had a pre-surgical appointment at the hospital this week for the gigantic Staghorn stone I will have blasted from my kidney next week. What is a Staghorn stone you may ask? That’s exactly what I said when they pulled up the x-ray in the doctor’s office and showed me what they’d found (accidentally by the way, while taking a lung x-ray – but that’s another story). It has the name Staghorn because it is big and many horned just like a . . . well . . . a Stag’s horns.
The first part of the visit was an EKG, performed by an RN. I didn’t know I was going to have an EKG or I would’ve dressed differently but no matter. I simply lifted my dress up to my neck as requested, and she did the procedure while we chatted about how I’d turned 60 last November and she’d just turned 61, and how we still feel like we are 35 on the inside but our legs, and tummies, and arms are changing so, that we feel the need to keep everything covered from head to toe so as not to frighten those we meet on the street (I exaggerate just a little).
Procedure finished, I pulled my dress down to my knees and smoothed out the creases while the nurse called in a very nice looking, 40-something-year-old anesthesiologist for my consultation. He was very professional as he explained what would happen before, during, and after my surgery, had me sign a half dozen release forms, and asked if he could answer any questions. Nope. He’d been very thorough in his explanation and besides, the less I talk about my upcoming surgery the better.
So we chatted a bit about other things, like the best places to vacation in the South, great beaches, mountain getaways, etc. He even wrote down the names of some of the most romantic places to stay. I leaned forward across the desk to take the paper he had written the names of the resorts on just as he thought of another great place and pulled the paper back to write some more (picture this, me leaning down across the doc’s desk, paused there for several seconds waiting for him to finish – I’ll tell you why later).
“Thank you doctor,” I said, in my best version of a Southern drawl, which isn’t very good because I’ve only lived here 1-1/2 years and I haven’t quite got it down yet.
I left shortly afterwards, drove to the nursery to buy a few plants (where the woman at the cash register barely made eye contact with me and was rather distant, but the young man who loaded my car was very outgoing and friendly, telling me how beautiful my yard was going to be with the excellent choices in plants I’d made, how much they appreciated my shopping with them today, telling me to be sure and get my plants out of the car as soon as I got home. On and on and on. What a sweet young man).
Next I headed home where I hurried into the powder room because, you know, that is what a sixty-year-old lady must do as soon as she drives into the driveway. Sometimes she is thinking about it even as soon as her car turns into the neighborhood.
There in my powder room, washing my hands at the sink . . . I glance up to check my face, only to catch site of the buttons on my dress, popped open all the way down to a place I won’t tell you because I don’t want to put any unsightly visions into your head! I am a modest woman by nature. I don’t like to show any cleavage whatsoever but THIS . . . this was a bit beyond cleavage to the point of COUGARDOM!
That my friends, is my embarrassing story of the week.
Blessings,
P.S. The pictures in this post are a peek out my windows into my backyard. Be sure to come back for my next post where I’ll show the full array of pictures in Making a Courtyard Patio on a Backyard Deck.
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