The Wrong Pants

My pants slipped down a few inches again.
I tugged at the waistband again.
I knew I hadn't lost weight because
I had been eating like a pig lately.
I wasn't completely awake
because it was only eight in the morning.
I start working in my library
every morning at seven
but I wake up at nine.
I can do several functions efficiently
sleep-working, like setting up student folders
and laying out name tags.
I finished using the restroom
and noticed that the waistband on
these black slacks seemed wider than
what I remembered.
I put on my glasses and looked at it.
There were two thin yellow strips of
some sort of non-skid cord running around it.
I'd seen that before.
When I was doing laundry.
Not MY laundry.
I was wearing Troy's Safeway slacks!
That explained everything.
I hope no one noticed the girly girl
Gloria Vanderbilt embroidery on
the back of what he must wearing at work!

My Lucky Couch

"This is Jennifer with Lazy-Boy,
may I speak with Gretchen Nixon?"
The phone tingled in my fingertips
as I listened to the soft pleasant voice.
"This is she."
Jen said, "We can deliver your new couch this
Thursday, Friday or Saturday,
do you have a preference?
I told her Saturday would be perfect
since I'd be off work.
I started roaming
from calendar to calendar with my
favorite blue Flair pen.
"What is the date Saturday?"
I asked her.
"It's February first."
I froze.
"Do you know what Sunday is?"
I asked her.
She laughed and said she knew what Sunday was.
Just in case she was at a call center in India
I asked her where she was located and felt
relieved when she said she was in Kent.
Kent Washington not Kent England.
I said,"We'll have it for the you know what then."
"You sure will." Said Jen.

My Finest Moment

"Hi Gina, here are your books on outer space,
where do you want them?"
I unloaded the two dozen heavy books
on the front table she indicated.
As I turned to go Annette and Marian
rushed at me and hugged me.
They looked up at me with adoring eyes
and proclaimed,
"I want to be a librarian when I grow up!"
Franklin dashed over and chimed in
and we shared a tender moment
before they went out to join their
classmates for recess.
As I enjoyed our quick love-in,
I looked over the top of their
little third grade heads
over at Matt six feet away.
"Hey Mark! Don't you want to be
a librarian when you grow up?"
He looked at me seriously,
tilted up his tiny chin and proclaimed,
"Oh no Mrs. Nixon,
I want to be an author!"

Seahawk Beast Mode

People from other places that
wonder why we are in the beastmode,
would have to live here to understand.
In a land of perpetual gloom,
the Seahawks are our sunshine.
I admit to being a fair-weather fan,
only caught up in the excitement
by being surrounded by rabid beasts
in town, at work and at home.
After a lost game,
my husband will pout for
THREE DAYS.
I'd cook him his favorite meal
to cheer him up,
but I quit cooking years ago.
To substantiate my claim that the
Seahawks are our life-giving sunshine
I can quote a recent poll.
When our largest demographic group,
vampires, was asked the following
statement, five out of five
strongly agreed.
"I find I can live normally in
Washington state."

The Bonus of Chronic Sinusitis 1/11/14

The steam rising from the iron
made my face feel warm.
The gusting winds and rain
and dark clouds outside my window
made me feel happy to
delay the inevitable.
My day off bike ride to Bot-hell
and back.
Three miles up and three miles back.
I don't have to like it I just have to do it.
I've had a runny nose since I was a little girl
whenever the weather is cold or windy,
or in Seattle,
both.
The bonus of having chronic sinusitis
is not smelling the three huge giants I live with
or the decaying rat carcases in my walls.
I looked down at the thirty-five new used
handkerchiefs from E-Bay and felt slightly disgruntled.
I don't wear pastels much now that I'm older
and wouldn't be caught dead in orange, purple or turquoise,
so naturally,
those were the predominate borders.
Cute designs on the flowers though.
They smelled like sizing when I opened them
and I knew I'd have to iron them.
pressing the sections into sixteen pie-piece shapes.
With determined imprecision, so that the
scallops of twelve sides would show,
I pressed and ironed.
I would only give Brenda her cut
of new handkerchiefs,
IF she promised not to unfold them in front of me.
She DOES NOT iron her handkerchiefs!