I’m not sure why these tales are tall. Perhaps it is because Wesley and I are tall and that Gladys has a tail. At any rate…
Tale number 1. It was Tuesday. It was seventy degrees. Gladys and I were out for a stroll. I was wearing flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt all the while air drying my sopping wet hair. It was wonderful. I was having a hard time figuring out where I lived and remembering what Virginia winters were like.
Tail number 2. It was Thursday. It was 36 degrees. Gladys and I were out for a stroll. We were both dressed in our furs. We were on the home stretch but Gladys was particularly interested in a piece of flora, and because I am working on my patience, I let her sniff to her hearts content. It was then that I heard something charging through the woods towards us. I whirled around to see a German Shepard fly from two houses to two feet away from us in about one second. His hackles were as high as the sky and from deep inside me came my big girl voice and I hollered, ‘LEAVE IT. LEAVE IT. GO HOME!’
Strangely enough, he did.
Gladys and I continued our stroll with Gladys, (who gets scared at the drop of a hat) trotting merrily along, and me, on shaking limbs.
Tale number 3. It was Thursday. Thursday night to be exact. Wes and I were bombing around in the forester and were on our way to pick up the mercedes. We arrived, I hopped over to the driver side of the forrester, backed out, then out to the main road. A few seconds later, I noticed that spooky ghosts headlights were closely following me. I played around with my rear view mirror a bit to try to see why these headlights were of ghost origin and found no answer. So I called Wes.
‘Is that you right behind me?’
‘Yep.’ Insert flashing headlights. ‘I’m trying to figure out why you’re going 35 miles an hour.’
‘Oh. Well. It doesn’t look like mercedes headlights. I’m trying to figure out why you look like a ghost.’
‘Flip the tab on the mirror.’
Sure enough. Who knew I could still be learning the ways of my 1998 forrester. And what’s up with this ghost mirror setting? I still haven’t received an explanation as to how this works.
Tale number 4. Throughout our married life, we have this one nice friend who occasionally comes over and says, ‘Wes! How’s your shower door holding up?’ Then goes off to examine said shower door. And I always inwardly groan. Because hard water, clear glass, and Kelsey evidently have not mixed well. And this person might be a slight perfectionist. (heh. slight.)
But after talking with some lovely ladies on Wednesday night, I became inspired to win back my shower door. And so I thus inspired my husband. And so on Thursday night, after our ghost ordeal, Wes began to buff the shower, scotch the shower door and then rainex the shower door. I was the helpful hannah who brought out coffee beans for him to sniff so he wouldn’t pass out from the various fumes. Kind of me, eh?
And now I feel like a new person. Who knew?
Thus concludes this segment of tall tales.