A boy named Nancy

She gasped, "Oh, heavens. I must be in the wrong restroom!"

Puzzled, I looked up from my place at the sink and paused, mid-hand rinse. "No..." I stammered, confused.

With furrowed brow and slack jaw, she proceeded quickly to the first stall and slammed the door. I finished my hand washing routine and headed back to the table of the fast food restaurant, where my family was eating.

Seeing the concerned look on my face, my mother inquired, "What's wrong, honey?"

"A woman saw me and thought she was in the wrong restroom. Why would she...wait. She thought I was a boy. SHE THOUGHT I WAS A BOY. SHE. THOUGHT. I. WAS. A. BOY." Cue relentless snickering from my brother.

I was 8-years-old, on summer vacation in Daytona Beach, FL. And despite my bright pink Umbros and pierced ears, I was thrice mistaken for a boy on that trip.

It was the hair cut.

A waitress asked my parents what "the boys" would like to eat. Wrong.

And the guy at the dune buggy rental place asked me if I was going to check out the hot babes on the beach for him. Uh...sure? My dad intervened and explained that I WASN'T A BOY, to which the man chuckled and said "with hairstyles the way they are these days, you never can tell."

Uhhh, hello? Pink Umbros?

I bet she has to wear a lei to work

My sunglasses fell off a horse and broke.

Yes, I'm being serious.

It happened back in January, and the breakage only adds fuel to my "I really dislike horseback riding" fire. I've only been atop a horse twice since I was almost thrown off of one when I was 8. Both times, I rode for the sake and amusement of my teenage friends. The things I do for those kids...

ANYWAY, my Maui Jim's met their untimely demise (I, thankfully, did not) and I only recently mailed them off for repair. To PEORIA, ILLINOIS. (That's an important detail. So it's in ALL CAPS.)

Today, I received a call from Kathy at Maui Jim. She began her voicemail by saying "Aloha, Nancy!"all cheerful like. First of all, YOU'RE IN PEORIA. NOT HONOLULU. Secondly, Kathy, MY NAME'S NOT NANCY.

She goes on to tell me they've assessed the damage (I picture her manager standing over her in her cubicle, hands on hips, saying, 'yep...they're broken.') and I need new frames. After giving details about how to get said new frames, she ends her message by saying (and I'm not kidding) "Mahalo, Nancy!" Again with the cheerfulness.

I did a little research. Today in Honolulu, it's 81* and sunny. In Peoria, right now, it's 63* under cloudy skies with a 20% chance of rain.

On so many levels, that lady is SO NOT in Honolulu.

AND MY NAME'S NOT NANCY.

Welcome to Rant-ville, population 1

Myth: People who don't like animals mustn't have feelings. It's as simple as that. They must be cold, harsh, detached shells with shriveled hearts.

Fact: I have never had an emotional connection with an animal. I just don't get it. And as you read this and yell at your computer monitor or maybe even feel pity for me as though I'm totally missing something, allow me to stop you. I am not a cold, harsh, detached person...at least not when others are watching. I have a full life, I know how to love others and be loved. I have feelings and interests and opinions. I am able to feel heartache, pain, joy, and contentment. And I've managed to do all that (gasp!) without the help of a pet.

And just about the time I think I'm making progress in bonding with Elise (Jeremy's dog)...just about the time I'm able to look at her and wonder if animals really do have souls, I sweep the floor.


I mean, seriously? Seriously. Nobody sees my side? She doesn't even live here yet. And this was the damage from sweeping just two rooms and the hallway.

I feel compelled to ask: am I really the crazy one?

He gets me, he gets me not, HE GETS ME...

Jeremy just sent me the following e-mail:

To: Elizabeth
From: Jeremy
Date: May 12, 2011
Re: ?

Do you want to look at these before I buy them?

http://charleston.craigslist.org/grd/2375802517.html

______

I mean, where does he come up with this stuff? How long did it take him to go from 'I wonder how I could get a reaction from her?' to 'I know! GOATS!'. And NO, I don't want 3 billy goats in the backyard. As if my never ending adjustment to having a dog around isn't enough...let's throw gasoline on the fire.

And why do I laugh at his antics? Laughing only encourages, right?

There's no doubt he gets me. I just wish he'd use his powers for good, not evil.

Instance #459 in which OCD is rather charming

Indulge me for a moment and take a gander at my cutest-ever fiance and his cutest-ever bow tie:


And no, the photographer did not say "Ok, now reach up and adjust his bow tie."

OCD. It really does pay off. Don't let anyone tell you differently.