This morning after I dropped the girls off at school, I headed straight over to the lake for my third run of this run of running. I parked where I park and I walked to the paved path while fidgeting with my arm thing that holds my iPod, my tissues (because my nose runs when I run), and my keys. Finally, the GPS was on and the START button was pressed, and off we go.
About fifty feet in front of me was an older man hunched over the trail. He was picking up rocks and putting them into a bucket, and he seemed to be concentrating pretty hard on the whole Picking Up Rocks And Putting Them Into a Bucket thing.
As I walked past him, he threw his arms up into the air.
Bucket Man (burning out his fuse out here alone): BOO!!! Ha!!! I scared you, didn’t I, Sweetie?!
Me (scared, and fidgeting with my wires to turn down the volume on You, Sailor, which is my current favorite walking tune): Yes! You did!
Bucket Man: That’s what I WANTED to do!!!
Me (speeding up because Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): Success!
Bucket Man: Have a nice day!!! BE NICE TO GRANDPAS!!!
Me (slowing down because NICE Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): YOU TOO AND I WILL!!!
I then clocked my fastest run in eight months, which means absolutely nothing because I’ve run only four times in the past eight months, and the one in January doesn’t count because my heel was broken.
One more thing. I promise that I’ll never be the type of lady who laughs like a maniac at a comedian who’s joking about menopause. Similarly, if a guy with a bucket of rocks ever tells me that I have to either eat an entire cow (cooked or uncooked) or sit through a 90-minute play devoted to funny lady menopause, I will ask him to take that bucket of rocks and call me Tessie Hutchinson, because I can’t make that decision. On a related note, I sort of want to talk about uterine ablation, but I’m not sure this is the time or the place.