My Saturday Morning

6 Nov

This week the Scottish and I decided to go to the gym. I was gifted a ten card punch worth of classes for the gym that the Scottish goes to and I was nervous and excited to try out my first class there while the Scottish worked out. I had back surgery this year (which is a whole other post for a whole other day) and I was told to never run again but that I could try things like Pilates and yoga. So, off I went to my Pilates on the Ball class and when we were done at the gym, we headed out to get some lunch. We decided to go to a small pizza place that serves New York style slices, all wide and thin so you can fold them like a sandwich. This place is a favorite of the Scottish but I wasn’t feeling pizza, so I ordered a turkey sandwich with JUST tomato and lettuce. The truth is I am an obnoxiously picky-eater who has embarrassed both family and friends here and abroad with my deliberate specifications. But this order was easy! I just wanted turkey with lettuce and tomato. But it came out covered in some weird sauce that looked like a pink mayo, EW. So I sent it back, again asking for turkey with lettuce and tomato- ONLY. Meanwhile, I went to find a seat, it was very crowded in this little shop, but I ended up locating two open stools at the bar top table by the window. I took out my cell phone from our gym backpack and checked my messages. Then I tried to go the bathroom it was full with some woman and her child. Suddenly, the place cleared out and we were able to move to a half-booth half-table. By this time my sandwich is done and when I pick it up I notice it has melted swiss cheese on it. AHHH, my frustration rises as my blood-sugar drops. I decide not to be THAT person, and just eat it anyway all the while grumbling to the Scottish about incompetency and the dirty tables.

As we are walking home, I ask, “Where’s my cell phone? I don’t think I have it.” The Scottish starts searching in the backpack and I start to panic, remembering how I’d taken it out while I was waiting for our food, and how I must have set it down and it’s still at that stupid restaurant. So I start racing back, heart thumping at the thought of my little android all alone. I tear into the store and ask the people at the bar table top if they’ve seen a pink phone. They hadn’t. Then I ask the family of four at the half-booth half-table if they’ve seen a pink phone. They hadn’t either. Then I ask the employees, and of course they haven’t seen it either, but I leave them with the Scottish’s phone number just in case it turns up.

This is when I start to get cray-zeeeeee. I wander around the two tables searching under feet and breathing heavy with concern. I look in the trash can where we threw out our food in case it was on our tray and accidentally fell in. I just keep hoping it will turn up somewhere. Finally, I leave dejectedly. Then I turn back to the restaurant to see this little girl holding up her hand to her ear in that classic “call-me” sort of way and I say out loud, “Is she making fun of me? Did she take my phone? This isn’t a joke!” The Scottish, afraid I might run back in and start harassing people directly, yells at me that it’s time to go.

Walking home, I’m in disbelief that I’ve lost my phone and I’m getting sad as I think of all the pictures of my nanny kids that are lost because I hadn’t uploaded them to my computer yet, and how will I afford a new phone right now, and what if my mom is trying to call me just this minute? Then the Scottish asks if I checked the top pockets on my coat, and I say, “No, because I never put anything in them!” And sure enough when I pat them and they are empty, but those pockets are right by my boobs and as I pat myself I realize that my phone is safe and sound. I reach into my sports bar and pull out my little beat up android with its pink cover, and I smile sheepishly at the Scottish.

Later, I ask him if I ruined one of his favorite pizza places. He says “yep.” Then I ask if I’m banned from said pizza place, and he says again, “yep.” Trying to look on the bright side, I say, “I’m just so happy that I’m not stupid enough to set my phone down and leave it somewhere!” And then we laugh. THE END.

Quote: “I don’t care what you say about me. Just be sure to spell my name wrong.” Barbara Streisand

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5 Responses to “My Saturday Morning”

  1. Debbie November 6, 2011 at 8:38 PM #

    Sometimes calling a hidden phone helps finding it. Mine was hiding in the pocket of my robe once, which was hanging in the closet. There’s no telling how long it would have taken to find that little piece of me.

    • Stephanie November 6, 2011 at 9:54 PM #

      Yep, calling the phone helps, but not when it’s on silent or vibrate!

  2. Matt November 15, 2011 at 4:23 PM #

    You should just buy him a haggis. I’ve seen So I Married An Axe Murderer.

    • Stephanie November 15, 2011 at 8:51 PM #

      haha haggis is gross but for some reason he likes it….must be the whole brought up in Scotland thing.

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