It's a Stretch

After holding the title of Ugliest legs on the Western Hemisphere since 1993; I decided to have vein stripping procedure done on both my legs by a nice doctor who I choose after discovering her name is longer than mine. this is no small deal, if you're Armenian or Greek, you'll inherit a last name longer than your femur, unless you're of wizard of oz "lollip kid" stature, so it's kind of a big deal and what better way to honor this exuberant event than to allow her to give me a pair of plastic glasses and wield a laser at those pesky veins which just dont' want to allow blood to flow but instead collect at my ankles like cheap navy socks. I'm too young for gnarled ankles with enough veins to map out a trip to the Mojave and back; I'm too young for compression socks and wearing pants in the summer. I've tried tanning cremes which promise me a golden sun goddess glow; I ended up looking like I stood too long in a rusting auto parts pool. Copper - baby poop yellow is the range of sun-kissed color I achieved. The procedure itself wasn't painful, I was given a cup of drugs the size of bolts and issued a paper gown that tore before I was led drowsily to the procedure room; I was asked if i wanted to watch the movie or just the screen saver. Since the movie involved a chimpanzee working towards an MBA, I passed and mostly slept instead though the dr. and assistant kept trying to talk to me and ask me questions which I cna't recall now. I'm convinced they were trying to get me to solve for X midway through the procedure, or maybe the drugs were just wearing off. So now that the procedure is over; I'm to wear thing-high compression stockings which is equivalent to wearing a chastity belt and a bear trap at the same time. Sure it would have been wise to have it done in winter when the socks would have felt cozy on a cold day; but no, I choose mid August because I like forging skirts and capris for pants around the clock though its 90 degrees out. And did I mention the bruising is also decreasing; rather than I look like a stomping victim from a dysfunctional farming community; but with several tubes of Arnica, I should have my regular golden hue back just in time for holiday tights.

Lawn Clippings

It's hard to keep secrets, especially domestic ones such as hiding purchases from your spouse, and covering up the fact that it was you that threw out your son's first- edition Ninja turtle shell-costume.
But I was tired of our yard looking like an abandoned missile site and the next door neighbors' teen inquiry if he could park his for sale, 1974 Chevy Tahoe with mudwheels on our lawn patch. He thought the visible dirt areas would convey his vehicle a sense of off-road adventure. I suggested he get his GED as soon as possible and leave the state.

I hired the gardener I knew my neighbors used, but being on a budget, I signed up for bi-monthly service. All we needed was some edging done, weeds pulled and trees trimmed. Any leftover money that didn't go towards two college tuitions I didn't want to blow on lawn service. No, we used our leftover cash for eating out, preferably a restaurant without a mascot.

Unfortunately, the gardener I chose, arrives when no one is ever home so I have to express my wishes to him via hastily written notes on an envelope placed on a lawn chair held down with a bike pedal
"Cut the citrus trees", I explained one day; only to come home and find a new cat door cut into our garage. Had i known he had carpentry talents, I'd have asked for a tree swing.
After months of finding our yard waste can filled, my husband wised-up and inquired how this was happening. Three answers came to mind as to how to satisfy him: Appear incredulous and suggest it was the work of compassionate teens needing community service hours? Magic elves? or, fess up and let him know I hired the neighborhood gardener (what was his name, from the bible....Isaiah?) and look how nice everything looked? I went with option three but changed the details a bit; I made it sound like the gardener made an appearance once a month, rather than two, that I paid him a mere $35 a month, ha, try $70, and finally, that, he hasn't ruined anything such as sprinkler heads, garden decor. Nor has he stripped our bbq for copper parts.
The unplanned cat door however will be another thing I'll have to explain as some moths down the road, he'll notice; it could be months, it could be tomorrow. I plan on blaming the kids or some high wind that knocked over the basketball hoop , creating the jagged slash on the garage door that the cat refuses to climb through.

Pants Mission

I have no pants. When I do wear what I feel is in style and very far from anything resembling mom jeans and/or toddler Healthtex cords; my teen daughter will make a comment similar to accusing someone of being unpatriotic; and I'll end up returning them. I do have two pairs that I wear repeatedly to work and the only reason no one has commented on it is probably because I pair it with a loud outlandish top such as a green military jacket with a nametag on it that reads "Conrad". I'll buy 4 random tops every 3 months at the local thrift store, and wear them with my two pairs of pants, but not at the same time. This makes people afraid to ask about the pants because well, the tops are so off putting. Top #2 is in the category of gangsta' wear and resembles the early costumes employees at Winchell's donuts wore in 1978, you know, brown, with random stripes, usually in yellow.
The 3rd top I reserve for middle of the week during staff meetings; it consists of a large white collar with such pointed ends it could take an eye out. I call this my Mrs. Brady shirt.
Top #4 is a polyester blend with a pattern of orange circles surrounded by green slashes; anyone with convulsion tendencies should avoid looking directly into this shirt.
I'd like to buy pants that don't' require a pelvis the size of a Popsicle stick, nor a style that exposes my backside when I make any movements from the waist. I want my pants to have two pockets in the back and not sag on my flat behind as if I'm wearing a heavy diaper. Am I asking too much? Do I need to shop at carnival supply sites? What does it take? Sewing my own clothes is out of the question; I'll wear my pants dragging the floor four inches before I even consider hemming.