Laurie: My peanut butter crackers are back! Just when I had resolved myself to the reality that those yummy malt crackers with once-possibly-salmonella-infected peanut butter paste in between were a thing of the past, Wal-Mart’s came through again. And they were on sale to boot (wonder what “to boot” means?)! This morning as I enjoyed my ritualistic two crackers for the first time in many months, I mused about where this established habit had come from? Me, of course but that made my mind jump to that always-nagging question “Why?”
elizabeth: “To Boot” comes from the Latin and literally means a punishment I will administer to your Gluteus Maximus if you got to Wal-Mart again. Don’t they sell guns? And you didn’t take me? And that is probably a good thing. You with peanut butter crackers and me with my thirty-day cleanse challenge. No peanut butter crackers on this thirty-day march into holistic hell. At the health food store I asked about if it was a good cleanse. How does one define a good vs. bad and evil cleanse? Oh, I think I know. Let’s just say I hope I can make it into the city on Wednesday. I walked by a diet cleanse (and only fourteen days) and marched back to the vinyl loving vegan maven and she told me to put that box back and to go have a happy cleanse. Like a happy birthday? Can I have my cake and eat it too while on this cleanse? Thirty days? Save me a cracker or two, will you? I’ll eat the wrappers.
Laurie: There are some rituals I have that make perfect sense. Physical therapy exercises first thing in the morning keep me upright and walking. Going back for that tiny extra dip of the coffee scoop is a tribute to my late cousin when we discovered that we had the same quirky (obsessive?) trait. Don’t worry, Tammy, the family weirdness will live on with me. And then there are some practices that really can’t be explained. My second husband once asked what happens if I go to bed without taking my makeup off. I told him I wasn’t sure but I thought you went to jail. I never had the nerve to chance it. And Sunday mornings are not pretty in my household. I whiten my teeth, slap on a brilliant green Mint Julep mask, and get naked to clean my bathroom. I have so many articles of clothing with Soft Scrub bleached-out spots on them that naked is the only way to go here. And the most important ritual on a Sunday morn? Praying that I don’t drop dead while cleaning the bathroom. The whitest teeth in the world could never compensate for the sight of me lying naked on the bathroom floor with a green face.
elizabeth: Okay, I haven’t even started the cleanse and I am feeling a little nauseous. Not from picturing you in the all together cleaning the bathroom although…. Kidding. I won’t even let my cats see me naked. I decided to save a few dollars and color my own hair. How hard can it be and I was doing my civic duty and keeping my local CVS open. I was also saving $200 and change. I read the directions and then proceed to do what I always do. I try to figure it out by myself. WHY? I have this deep-rooted fear that (like getting directions to anywhere on the planet) they have left out a vital step. So many times I have ended up where God did not intend for me to go only to have some moron say, “I left out that right turn. Sorreeeey.” Sorry doesn’t not do it for me, bud. How about driving me around for a year?
Well, I got the timing as per the box correct, I wore the fashion forward gloves and I did a little dance. After my hair started to dry, I noticed something right by my roots. MY ROOTS! The color never made it to my roots and is that not the purpose of coloring one’s hair? So now I get to make a part by my left ear and comb it all over to the right ear. It sort of works until a strong breeze hits and people drive by and honk their horns going, “Hey, it’s the Donald.”
I heard today on Good Morning America that my roots were picked up by Google Earth.