My father-in-law is in the hospital, so after Easter lunch with my side of the family, we went to visit him. He’s on the 10th floor and this hospital is such a maze with more than one tower. We went into the first elevator we saw and ended up on the wrong 10th floor. So then we had to go back down to the ground floor and start over. We got directions from the front desk: Follow the hall down to the glass elevator, go down a level, follow the blue diamonds to the next elevators and then take them up to the 10th floor.
So we find our way to the proper elevators, and just as we arrive the doors open and two men in their mid 20′s stepped out. They didn’t look at us, but I noticed they had on phat pants and they were belted lower than their waists. They walked with that stride that was necessary to keep their pants from falling down.
We got into the elevator and saw that every single stinking button was pressed – from the 2nd floor to the 12th and the roof.
Thugs.
I couldn’t help myself, I stuck my head out of the elevator and hollered after them, “You @!*+#!’s!”
They didn’t even flinch. And as the doors slid shut I started to laugh because I couldn’t even believe the absurdity of it all. My husband was pissed. Which meant that I needed to stifle it. Pronto.
Yes, I’m mad too. Soooooo mad.
But a giggle soon escaped, thankfully I pulled myself together, all without dropping a very large, half eaten, birthday cake.
And it’s hard for me to not laugh, especially as the elevator is stopping at every floor, the doors open, the three of us stand there (me holding a cake) and then the doors shut and we go up a floor. I mean, with every floor it just got funnier.
Admit it, you would have laughed too.
actually, i may have been tempted to start eating that cake!
I totally would have laughed. Loud.
Just wanted to thank you for the note you left on my blog, and to say hi. I love Petroville, too. In fact, Kim’s one of my dearest friends. As for your question, it’s hard to butcher and eat animals we’ve raised. But ultimately, that’s what they’re for. You know? And when you raise them yourself, you know they’re healthy and that you’re not putting anything medicated by Monsanto or whomever into your body. I know, it sounds weird. But, when handled properly, it’s a lot less painful than you’d imagine. My younger son, the one who got Charlie yesterday, doesn’t love the idea of butchering and selling his bull. But he likes the idea that he’ll be putting healthy meat out into the world for others to enjoy. It makes him proud. And that’s a good thing, right?
Anyway, nice to meet you. Take care. Hope your father in law is better soon!
Susan McCorkindales last blog post..I got a chocolate bunny. My kid got a Charolais bull.