The Cross-Walk

grumble grumble grumble...

One soaking wet outfit, two scraped knees (one of which is swelling up beautifully) two scraped palms later...Only my pride is seriously hurt, but I am pissed!

There is a crosswalk on Peel Street where I work. Where almost no drivers ever stop for the pedestrians.

When Hubby and I used to cross every day, Hubby would just step out, because he was pretty much the size of a moose and people would slam on their brakes to miss hitting him. By contrast to him, I'm small. I'm not small by contrast to many other people, but I digress...

Motorists almost never stop for pedestrians there. The paint is always faded, one of the signs is usually broken, people just don't walk out and take their chances usually.

Today, as I was making my way up the hill, I saw a GOOD driver, driving a Meldrum the mover truck, make a proper stop to allow pedestrians to cross.

And the class-1 A-HOLE in the car behind him started honking his horn and simply wouldn't stop. The truck driver got out of his truck to explain to the A-HOLE that you HAVE TO stop at crosswalks - but the A-HOLE got out of his car and proceeded to yell at the truck driver.

And this was too much for me. I have what can only be described as a VERY short fuse! I started yelling at the A-HOLE (I have a voice meant for the Theatre - you can HEAR me, whether you want to or not)! I yelled at him that this was a crosswalk. The Meldrum man, getting back in his truck, thanked me.

I continued to yell at the A-HOLE. "It's a CROSSWALK, buddy! People have to cross here! So shut up and wait two minutes!" Or something to that effect.

The Meldrum truck had moved on, but I stood in front of the car, yelling at the A-HOLE. In point of fact, I think by now I was being the bigger A-HOLE, but I was really mad at the guy.

Anyway, I waved my umbrella as if I was going to hit his precious car (I was careful that it WOULDN'T) and I called him an A-HOLE one more time. He drove away, yelling at me to "Shut the F**K up, B***H!"

And then I fell down.

I had made it to the sidewalk before I fell. My umbrella popped open and went rolling out into traffic, students came to pick me up, people were very kind wanting to know if I was hurt. I was still hopping mad, but laughing because I had tripped over my own two feet, because my new pants I was wearing are simply a bit too long, and I'd been too stupid to shorten them. I told them I realized I was probably a bigger a-hole than the guy I was yelling at, but that it really bugged me when people don't STOP FOR PEDESTRIANS!!!

Brings a new interpretation to the term "Cross-walk!"

Rain

I woke up this morning, dreaming about old-fashioned rain boots.

Your grandmother's rain boots - or rather, MY grandmother's rain boots!

Plastic rain boots that you put over your shoes, that had a space for your (sensible) heels to go, and which closed with round elastics that slipped over buttons.

These ugly things!

Now, I might have been dreaming of them because we're currently experiencing some flooding in Quebec and Ontario. A friend of mine actually is in the process of having her basement filling up with water as I write this, and two days ago, while she was out for a walk, she a sinkhole opened up and swallowed half of her. She was all right and got out only muddied, and it took her a few hours to realize that things might have gone much worse. I don't personally know anyone else affected by the flooding currently.

In my dream, my Grandmother was, again, trying to get me to wear these things.

I hated them when she was alive, and I couldn't get rid of them fast enough when her back was turned. The lectures I had to put up with! "They're so practical!" she would argue, and I couldn't fight back - then...

But this morning, in my ablutions, I realized, they're NOT practical, and I finally answered back! 

"They're made of PLASTIC!" I said. "Sure, they only cost a few dollars, but they'll also wear out quickly because they're so cheap, and then you have to buy another pair, and another...It would be much better to invest in a GOOD pair of rain boots and be done with it!"

Besides which, jeez gran - they're BUTT-UGLY, for crying out loud!

Grandma would look at them and say they looked perfectly sensible.

It's hard, being brought up by your grandparents, because those extra years in between your ages make for some seriously ridiculous misunderstandings, misinterpretations, and just plain misses.

If I were the parent or grandparent of a child who steadfastly refused to wear protective gear, I wonder, would I have to strength to say, "I can't afford to buy you new shoes, you have to wear these to cover up."

Or would I have the strength to say, "These are butt-ugly! Let's get a real pair of boots!"

I wonder also if I dreamt about this because the graveyard where my grandparents lie is flooded. Or if someone I know is about to be flooded. 

I wonder stuff like that. It ain't easy being me!

The stupid thing is, this morning I was thinking about my choice of footwear, and I found myself wishing I had a pair of these ugly things! I wonder, is this something that happens when you turn 60? Does all sense of fashion simply evaporate?

I could wear my running shoes, which are porous, and so my feet would get really wet. Or I could wear my shoes, which are leather, and only get slightly wet toes. And that's when I found myself wishing for a pair of ugly plastic overshoes.

I guess I should just have worn boots.

Visits to Doctors

Today I once again had the pleasure of seeing a doctor, this time, the neurologist. And for once, I'm going to break with my tradition and name a name, because I happen to think Dr. Guy Boudreau is simply the best doctor I have ever encountered in my life.

That's not the topic of the blog though. The topic is good-old, longsuffering, faithful Hubby!

Hubby usually accompanies me to doctor's visits that are either serious, scary, or to Dr. Boudreau. It's just habit, actually. Hubby and I deal with stress using humor, and he actually enjoys the process of driving around looking for parking spots. This makes him the ideal chauffeur! Plus, it's a chance to spend some time with him, something I don't get to do enough of lately.

Today he was in fine form, telling me about his previous day's visit to the dentist, Dr. John Drummond, who I name here because I think he's the best dentist I've ever met!

And now, on with the tale...

Dr. John was flogging toothbrushes, Hubby informed me, and I dutifully rolled my eyes. I have a favourite kind - first introduced to me by Dr. John - that I stick with now because it works so well and feels so good.

Hubby continued his tale. "He went on and on about the benefits, I was just smiling and nodding," he said. I know. Hubby is a VERY "hard room." "I had left in fact, with the literature in my hand. I wasn't going to buy it," he said. "But then I saw what it had!"

And it had?

Bluetooth.

Okay, there are SO MANY jokes possible, but on with the tale...

There's a suction cup cell phone holder you stick to the mirror. You open the app and you brush your teeth, and the app watches you.

It tells you you need to spend more time on this quadrant or that quadrant. It's does this for flossing as well.

And it shares all your brushing habits with your dentist, who can make recommendations to you via email!

At this point, my own visit to my own doctor for my own problems are WAAAYYY in the back seat! I'm rolling on the floor, scaring all the other patients in the waiting room.

"If I watched you brush you teeth," I managed to gasp out, "you'd tell me to f-off and die!"

Hubby nods enthusiastically and laughs till he coughs.

"I've been yelling at you to floss for YEARS!" I tell him.

"I know! I know" he grins - ear to ear. "I love this thing!" He whips out the app and shows me his data.

"You do understand that you were married to me - you still are! - and I told you to brush and floss for years - for FREE! But NOOOOO! Once it costs over a hundred dollars and has BLUETOOTH..."

For the sake of my readers who don't enjoy profanity, I will not write down the rest of what I said to Hubby. Suffice it to say that we laughed our guts out, he admits freely to being an idiot, and I am thankful that finally, FINALLY, something is getting him to take better care of his teeth.

Effing idiot.