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Saturday, October 31, 2015
Friday, October 2, 2015
Oh, Yoga Pants...
Ever have a day like this?
Invigorated by a crisp autumn morning, I decided to attempt some new yoga poses in the privacy of my lower driveway, behind the garage. Eyes closed and embracing the meditation, I startled to hear a door slam, and emerging from his truck a mere ten feet from my spandex-clad and enfolded limbs, was my plumber, here totally unexpectedly to complete some work he started several weeks ago.
Since his work is in the goat yard, I grabbed the leashes and heaved the goats toward their other fenced area, a journey they generally fight each tortuous step. Suddenly, Emerson bolted, like a four-legged Flash hurtling me at breakneck speed across the field as I fought to both stay upright and keep hold of his leash. Was this some diabolical revenge because I refused to let him enter our local Goat Races?? Somehow I finally got him through the gate, then went back for Elliot, then finally, gasping, back to the plumber, who had been leaning against his truck and chewing on a toothpick as the spectacular race unfolded. He squinted at me.
"Do you breed goats for profit, or the milk?" he asked. "What I mean is, what's the purpose of them?"
Oh, some questions are not meant to be answered, but I didn't hesitate. (Have you never shouted at your plumber?)
"The entertainment value isn't enough??!! Here you are on a routine septic tank repair call, and you get to watch a middle-aged woman in yoga pants do the hundred-yard-dash with a lunatic goat? Isn't that worth something? (Maybe even a discount on the bill...)"
Truly I still don't know if I actually snapped this reply aloud or just thought it to myself...I guess I'll know when I see the final invoice.
Leaving him to his work in the yard and the basement, I limped to the kitchen to console myself with a post-workout fruit smoothie. Nothing beats fresh juicy peaches...Only after I had peeled and sliced half a dozen of them, their sticky nectar oozing through my fingers, did I realize - all my water had been shut off.
Maybe the goats will lick my fingers for me...
Invigorated by a crisp autumn morning, I decided to attempt some new yoga poses in the privacy of my lower driveway, behind the garage. Eyes closed and embracing the meditation, I startled to hear a door slam, and emerging from his truck a mere ten feet from my spandex-clad and enfolded limbs, was my plumber, here totally unexpectedly to complete some work he started several weeks ago.
Since his work is in the goat yard, I grabbed the leashes and heaved the goats toward their other fenced area, a journey they generally fight each tortuous step. Suddenly, Emerson bolted, like a four-legged Flash hurtling me at breakneck speed across the field as I fought to both stay upright and keep hold of his leash. Was this some diabolical revenge because I refused to let him enter our local Goat Races?? Somehow I finally got him through the gate, then went back for Elliot, then finally, gasping, back to the plumber, who had been leaning against his truck and chewing on a toothpick as the spectacular race unfolded. He squinted at me.
"Do you breed goats for profit, or the milk?" he asked. "What I mean is, what's the purpose of them?"
Oh, some questions are not meant to be answered, but I didn't hesitate. (Have you never shouted at your plumber?)
"The entertainment value isn't enough??!! Here you are on a routine septic tank repair call, and you get to watch a middle-aged woman in yoga pants do the hundred-yard-dash with a lunatic goat? Isn't that worth something? (Maybe even a discount on the bill...)"
Truly I still don't know if I actually snapped this reply aloud or just thought it to myself...I guess I'll know when I see the final invoice.
Leaving him to his work in the yard and the basement, I limped to the kitchen to console myself with a post-workout fruit smoothie. Nothing beats fresh juicy peaches...Only after I had peeled and sliced half a dozen of them, their sticky nectar oozing through my fingers, did I realize - all my water had been shut off.
Maybe the goats will lick my fingers for me...
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