Monday, June 9, 2008


Want to get a rise out of someone? Get a good laugh at the expense of another? I’m your girl.

A few years ago my dear old Dad took a tumble off of his road bike, fractured a rib or two, punctured a lung, and further addled his already dotty mind. Living in Sin City at the time, I learned of said clumsiness by phone. My mom gave me the news—I remember I was standing outside Jason’s Deli—and I freaked out. Starting to cry. Raving hysterically. My dad was dying for heaven’s sake. Of course I was freaking out.

Mom laughed at me. Or rather Caitlyn did and mom told me about it, so I blame Mom.

Before they called me, they agreed that “this was going to be good.” For I’m a bit—a lot—dramatic and plenty easy to mess with. Post-call, those two enjoyed contrasting my the-sky-is-falling reaction to that of my pragmatic younger (older) sister, Whit, who didn’t squeal, cry, or rant but just asked if he was going to be okay.

That said, a story follows . . .

A few months ago I was honored by Whitney’s invitation to be present at her son-to-be, Van's, birth. She lives an eight hour drive or inconvenient non-nonstop flight from Sparks, so I’ve crossed my fingers for an induction; I sure don’t want to miss the blessed event.

The induction is scheduled, but being due this month, the SS Van could sail any old time. My bag is packed. I’m ready to go.

I was meandering through Target last week when my ‘lil phone buzzed.

Howareyou? Whit asked quickly after I said Hello.

Fine. And yourself? I drawled.

My water broke. Get on a plane. Fast.

Uh. Oh. Okay. I set my full hand basket down in the nail polish aisle and turned to exit my Target Greatland. Yeah. Okay. Alright, I kept stuttering affirmatives as I headed for the doors.

I’m kidding, the big, mean, thinks-she’s-so-funny pregnant lady said.

Oh. The little rat must not have known that my purpose in Target was to buy her a present.

I retrieved my basket and tried to steady my now-racing heart.

Mean little incubator.

But as awful as that was, it’s nothing compared to what she and my mom did to her husband, Ethan (who was in Canada until last evening). Ask the nasty little mommy-to-be-times-two about that trickery.

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