They say...
They say (now, don’t ask me who ‘they’ are) that whatever you do on the first day of the new year is exactly what you’ll do all year long. With that in mind, one should never work, fight, cry or otherwise perform/engage in acts that you would prefer to keep to a minimum all year long. This includes, but is not limited to, hangovers, bodily injury, hiccups, bad hair days and nail biting.
I say avoiding 3 out of 5 is not so terrible. Can you guess to which of those I fell victim? Nail biting... a given. Doesn’t take a genius. And the second... drum roll please... bodily injury.
January 1, 2009 started out fine. No hangover. Hair turned out decent. I finally got over the hiccups the night before when I surrendered my Canadian beer to Rob (still not sure if he actually drank it or slowly poured it out as we passed rose bushes along the walk around World Showcase in Epcot).
My brother (in town for his birthday – Dec 31) and Rob and I decided to have our New Year’s lunch at Golden Corral... the lunch of champions, ya know. Actually, the massive buffet of heart-attack choices played a major role in satisfying yet another “they say.”
They say (in this case, my parents are ‘they’) that you have to eat greens and black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. If you eat greens on Jan 1, it brings you money for the rest of the year. So, I ate turnips, collards and spinach... covering all my bases. And the dreaded black-eyed peas (yicko) is to keep Pellagra away (we pronounce it Pilagry). Do not ask me what Pellagra is – nobody really knows. But apparently, it’s even more dreaded than the black-eyed peas. So each year on Jan 1, I force down a few spoonfuls of the nasty little gray suckers.
After lunch at the Corral, we decided to practice a little putting at the Fantasia Fairways at Disney. It’s not your average putting course – no castles or dinosaurs. It’s a very challenging course even for the most seasoned golfer (which I am not).
In the 20 minutes until our tee time, we decided to visit the arcade.
A few quarters, a round or two of air hockey on a smaller-than-regulation size table and welcome the bodily injury part of my New Year’s Day.
Seconds after the puck struck (ha! poet and didn’t know it), my middle finger turned a lovely shade of blue followed by an immediate swelling between the knuckles. My finger looked like a pea pod and boy did it scream! Youchy. Hurt like a son-of-a-biscuit!
Now comes the best part of my New Year’s Day – oddly enough, a direct result of the youchy. As we drove home, my Rob sat in the back seat carefully folding a piece of paper he’d found on the floorboard. Then, he said, “Hope this makes your finger feel better.” I looked to the side of the head rest where his hand (stretched from the back seat) held the following.
Sometimes the smallest actions mean the world.
So, if what ‘they’ say is true, then I’ll get flowers all year long!!!!
I say avoiding 3 out of 5 is not so terrible. Can you guess to which of those I fell victim? Nail biting... a given. Doesn’t take a genius. And the second... drum roll please... bodily injury.
January 1, 2009 started out fine. No hangover. Hair turned out decent. I finally got over the hiccups the night before when I surrendered my Canadian beer to Rob (still not sure if he actually drank it or slowly poured it out as we passed rose bushes along the walk around World Showcase in Epcot).
My brother (in town for his birthday – Dec 31) and Rob and I decided to have our New Year’s lunch at Golden Corral... the lunch of champions, ya know. Actually, the massive buffet of heart-attack choices played a major role in satisfying yet another “they say.”
They say (in this case, my parents are ‘they’) that you have to eat greens and black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. If you eat greens on Jan 1, it brings you money for the rest of the year. So, I ate turnips, collards and spinach... covering all my bases. And the dreaded black-eyed peas (yicko) is to keep Pellagra away (we pronounce it Pilagry). Do not ask me what Pellagra is – nobody really knows. But apparently, it’s even more dreaded than the black-eyed peas. So each year on Jan 1, I force down a few spoonfuls of the nasty little gray suckers.
After lunch at the Corral, we decided to practice a little putting at the Fantasia Fairways at Disney. It’s not your average putting course – no castles or dinosaurs. It’s a very challenging course even for the most seasoned golfer (which I am not).
In the 20 minutes until our tee time, we decided to visit the arcade.
A few quarters, a round or two of air hockey on a smaller-than-regulation size table and welcome the bodily injury part of my New Year’s Day.
Seconds after the puck struck (ha! poet and didn’t know it), my middle finger turned a lovely shade of blue followed by an immediate swelling between the knuckles. My finger looked like a pea pod and boy did it scream! Youchy. Hurt like a son-of-a-biscuit!
Now comes the best part of my New Year’s Day – oddly enough, a direct result of the youchy. As we drove home, my Rob sat in the back seat carefully folding a piece of paper he’d found on the floorboard. Then, he said, “Hope this makes your finger feel better.” I looked to the side of the head rest where his hand (stretched from the back seat) held the following.
Sometimes the smallest actions mean the world.
So, if what ‘they’ say is true, then I’ll get flowers all year long!!!!
posted by Doris @ 4:39 AM
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