Proof that my life is a sitcom:
- A physician’s assistant once recommended that I “vacuum vigorously” as a way to combat stress, anxiety, and very serious panic attacks. Who knew my vacuum had magical healing powers?
- As a southern woman, I was so unprepared to live on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan that I did not realize I should never use my windshield washer spray in below freezing weather. If you happened to be driving down Main Street in Marquette, MI in December 2006 and saw a woman driving with her head sticking out of the window because her windshield was suddenly covered with a thick sheet of ice, you saw me!
- At the end of one evening involving formal wear and a few too many adult beverages in 2003, I asked my husband to pull his truck over to the shoulder of the road. Sitting in the passenger seat, I opened the door and leaned out a little. The fresh air felt wonderful, until I face-planted on the ground. Jay thought I was stuck, somehow unable to get out of the truck, so he pushed my seatbelt button and “released” me. The next morning, I woke with a bruised head and the memory of my dress getting caught in my up-do. This story is also known as The Night I Mooned Savannah.
- In 2002, while working as a drama teacher in a very old auditorium with a rat problem, I walked into my office one morning and accidentally stepped on a sticky trap with a dead mouse on it. The trap stuck to my boot. The dead little rodent clung to the trap. Gagging, I hopped on one foot to the phone 50 feet away and begged the maintenance man to remove the trap and dead rodent from my boot.
- During my Catholic wedding, the priest performing the ceremony repeatedly sucked his dentures back into place while calling my soon-to-be husband by the wrong name. Who is Mr. Miller, and why did I marry him?
- In 2009, at 34 years old, I took one ballet class. Refusing to admit pain or defeat, I performed 100 grand pliés at the barre. The morning after, I stood up from my bed and promptly fell to floor. I spent two days on the couch, unable to use any muscles from the waist down and spent a week crab-walking. Crabs only walk sideways. Go on. Picture it in your mind.
Like all the great sitcoms from my childhood, here’s the moral of the story:
- Use common sense. Water freezes.
- God has a sense of humor. Learn to laugh at his jokes, even when you are the butt of one.
- Resist the urge to punch medical professionals in the throat. They control the good drugs.
- Maintenance men are the true heroes of high schools. Be kind to them, and they will remove rats from your boots.
- Know your limits. Whether its alcohol or exercise-induced, face-planting and crab-walking is never pretty. Standing on the side of the road with your dress tangled in your hair and your Spanx shining in the moonlight is humiliating.
So, what’s the moral of your sitcom? Share your story with me in the comments section!