Today, some might think, was a total waste. But not us. We didn’t do a darn thing all day except eat, nap and watch TV.
“That,” you may say, “is not something you do while on vacation. On the California Coast. In a high end trailer park. What are you thinking?”
However, as Jerry T might say, “that’s exackry what we did.”
He told me once, he said, “Jerrie, you have exackry disease.”
Jerry T is an older, vertically challenged, ex-jockey, horse owner/trainer/racer, M&M Aficionado, art collector, jockey agent, and all around stellar individual. Considering why he may have mispronounced ‘exactly’, I played along.
“What, exactly, is exackry disease?”
In response, he said, “your face looks exackry like your face.”
Then it hit me! He’s Japanese and he looks exackry like Pat Morita, Mr. Miagi from the first “Karate Kid” movie. Really, he does. He even signs autographs. And he’s always coming up with jokes like this. All in fun, of course. I get it. It’s not true, but I get it.
Anyway, that’s exackry what we did. Nothing, except eat, sleep, and watch TV. I must admit, though, that the TV did not come on until after Diane’s 4-hour nap, around 1830 (6:30 pm for you civilians).
Prior to that, we nibbled a bit until the coffee was gone, then cooked an enormous breakfast for lunch. A six-egg omelet, six pieces of really thick bacon, four potatoes cut up and fried, and toast. And milk. The intention was to split everything down the middle, but that didn’t work out because my eyes were bigger than Diane’s stomach. It did, however, all get eaten, sad to say. It was after this nourishing meal that we crouched on the couch for a moment before Diane started nodding off and was sent to bed. I remained on the couch and finished another crafty thing I was working on, then curled up to take a nap of my own. I think I was down for only about an hour.
That brings us to 1815 when I decided it was time for Diane to arise so she would be able to sleep tonight. We do have a plan for tomorrow, to visit Bowling Ball Beach, at low tide. That’s at 11-something am. Then we’re going to the movie to see “The Croods” at 1400.
Doing this caused me to do one of the most terrible things I’ve ever done in our 45 years of married life. I touched her on the arm. I really, really tried to stare her awake, but she didn’t respond, so I innocently reached over and touched her bare arm.
The response was instant and scared me, causing me to almost spot my jammies. Her eyes slammed open (they actually made a slamming sound), she grabbed the shingles spot on her left side (as if that was all my fault), and she pushed herself against the headboard while uttering “huh, huh, huh” repeatedly. And she was brushing feverishly at the spot where I touched her. What went through my mind throughout all this was that people must wonder how we ever participated in the process that produces children. I know there’s a process. I just don’t remember what it is …
After about an hour and a half, Diane’s adrenalin levels had subsided to the point where she could communicate coherently without yelling at me, and our day progressed OK from there.
I peeled an apple for her. That calmed her even more, to the point where she felt compelled to fix supper for us. I got the remainder of the egg salad and she had tuna salad. I ate mine then she asked if I could eat the other half of hers. Of course, I said “yes.” Here’s what she handed me …
After successfully devouring the remainder of her sandwich, I was allowed to eat my cherry pie.