Posted in Just for fun, This N That

I Am Not Joan Graves

Have you ever Googled yourself? You, know, just typed your name in the Google search engine to see what pops up. As a writer, I’m hoping some rave review about my writing or a masterpiece I’ve written appears at the top of the page.

So, imagine my surprise when the first thing that pops up reads; “Meet the reason movies suck – Joan Graves.” I’m like, “Wait, WHAT?!” I don’t make movie suck…. do I? No, of course not. I’ve done a lot of things in my life but I’m pretty sure making movies suck is not one of them. Turns out the person responsible for rating movies is named Joan Graves. And apparently some people are not very fond of her.

I’ve spent the last few years doing everything possible to get my name to appear at the top in the Google search and get rid of the “reason movies suck” mantra. My first thought was to buy my domain name. Nope! Not happening. Some third party person has bought And they are not even using it! Crazy people with my name. I think they bought it and are holding it hostage in hopes the other Joan Graves will pay them an obscene amount of money to get it. Well, to them I say, “Hello! It’s no working. You’ve had it for four years now. No one is going to buy it from you. Let my name go!”

Though older than me, the other Joan Graves appears to be in fine health so looks like I’m going to have to resign myself to being number two. Man, I hate that! I can’t stand being second. So, I’d like to point out that you can help me rise to number one by Googling me and hitting on MY name, not HERS. Yes, I’m that kinda girl and hopefully you are that bored.  So, to clarify, this is me.



This is not.



Posted in Education, My Life My Way, Special Needs Kids, The DJ Diariers, This N That

What Does Time Cost at Costco?

In a world that is daily increasing in the number of special needs children, it is exceptionally important what parents teach their typical children. Even toddlers have the ability to recognize that DJ is unlike them. Of all the responses we receive in public, we never had one like today.

Costco shoppers have always been the most tolerant. They smile and go out of their way to speak to DJ. Once in Walmart a woman actually said to me, “What’s wrong with it?” In reference to my child! DJ isn’t stupid. He picks up on unkindness. So, needless to say, Costco is DJ’s favorite store. Since the store is so big we push DJ in a wheelchair which really draws the eye of children.

Today two little boys were riding in a shopping cart and caught sight of DJ as we rounded a corner. The oldest looked to be maybe five and the younger about three. The younger questioned his older brother about why DJ was jabbering and flailing about. Their mother, unaware of what was taking place, pushed them away before I could hear the older one’s response. As we were leaving we ran into them again. The older one immediately began hollering at DJ and waving frantically at him. I mean this kid was serious about getting DJ’s attention. When he did, DJ gave him an enthusiastic wave back. The younger one immediately turned incredulous eyes upon his brother.

“He waved at you.”  The little one was so in awe you would have thought his favorite movie character had just come to life before his eyes.

“Wave at him. He might wave at you too,” was the older child’s advice.

DJ, now seeing he has the attention of two children, is jabbering in that dialect that only he understands. He was rocking the wheelchair trying to roll over to the two. His little arms were flailing about as he simply couldn’t contain the enthusiasm of having what he rarely has; the undivided attention of another child.

When the youngest one, with his big beautiful brown eyes round with wonder, gave DJ a wave and DJ jabbered and waved him the little boy just couldn’t believe it. These two little boys were amazed that DJ was “talking” to them. When their mother turned to see what all the excitement was about they both began pointing at DJ with enthusiastic gestures and simultaneously telling her how DJ was waving and “talking” to them. We had a good laugh about it while all three boys were going crazy over each other. Those little boys were amazed that DJ was interacting with them.  They treated DJ like a rock star.

Parents need to know the importance of encouraging their children to ask questions about DJ  and to interact with him. DJ LOVES to get the attention of kids. He tries his best to talk to them either jabbering or using his iPad. Unfortunately, it is a very rare occasion when the child will respond in a positive manner to him. Science has shown us that children learn physically and intellectually from other children. Therefore, no one wins when the opportunity to interact with a special needs child is lost.

Somehow that mother at Costco has successfully taught her two very young boys that they should be accepting and loving of all people. And in the process of doing so, her children made DJ, for a brief moment in time, just like every other little kid. That is a blessing that defies words and will have a positive impact on DJ for the rest of his life.


Posted in My Life My Way, This N That

Epic Nail Fail

Recently, I was given a gift card to Nail En Vogue in Lexington.  Though I love beautiful nails it has never been something I’ve been able to maintain.  Since someone went to the trouble of getting me a gift card for no reason, other than she wanted to bless me, I committed myself to the project. I’ve actually loved being “required” to go every two weeks for the fill-ins. It forces me to do something just for me and that’s an activity I’m not very good at.

Nail En Vogue is about 25 minutes from my house. Between preparing for a spring break trip, doctor appointments, funerals and basic daily events it just has not been possible for me to take the time to get there.  Since it’s just a fill-in, I reason to myself, it can be done anywhere. Just once I’ll go to that place around the corner. How much different could there possibly be? Turns out a lot, actually.

My first clue that all wasn’t well was the extraordinarily long wait. Granted all the nail clinicians are working. They just look as if they are working in slow motion. I conclude this must be a patience test for me. Feeling a little Holy I decide a good use of my wait time is to pray for everyone there. I did that – three times. And I was still waiting.

Finally, a lady gets fed up, leaves in a huff and my time has arrived.  I was seated next to a pretty dark-haired girl who was getting gel tips. As I’m settling into my seat the clinician doing her nails starts speaking to the clinician doing mine in a language only they understand. Before the girl and I could exchange that awkward smile that Americans share when we have no idea what language is being spoken let alone what actual words are flying about, her clinician raises her hand up, points at her thumb and cackles like a hyena. He was pointing and laughing and next thing I know my clinician has joined in. This clearly warrants more than an awkward smile but neither of us are quite certain what to do when one’s finger is being so openly mocked.  So, we just sat there allowing her thumb to be the object of some joke we are not privy too.

Yet, despite not knowing the joke I found the entire situation funny. I was attempting to hold in my own laughter and when I feared it may escape I whispered to the girl, “I’m not laughing at you… or your nails.”

“Oh, I know.”  She whispers back as if our whispers are as unintelligible to them as their language is to us.

My clinician goes to work on my nails with her little drill thingy. If you haven’t been through this process they use a tiny, rapidly spinning tool to shave off the longer ends of the nails.  I call it a drill though that isn’t an adequate description. Normally, you don’t feel a thing. The drill simply decreases the nail length. Not this time. Without warning, I felt the end of my finger burn. “Sorry,” she says. Okay, not everyone is perfect. I’m going to let it go. Then she does it again. And again. And again. Each time she follows it with a “sorry” that doesn’t sound very sorry at all.

For such a small drill the pain is a bit more than one would expect. I’m enduring this on every finger multiple times. Holiness gone! I’m not only not praying for anyone but myself at this point but I’m also thinking some rather unfortunate thoughts about the chick doing my nails. I decide right then I could not hold up under torture. I’m doing my best not to flinch but crap it hurts! I dare a peek at the girl seated next to me. She’s smiling, trying to hold in her laughter.  She mouths a “sorry” to me. I shrug.  Seems fair.

Somehow, I’ve managed to survive one hand of burns and she has moved on to the next. On finger number two the drill slips and off flies my entire nail! As if in slow motion we all watch the nail sail across the room, me in horror, my clinician in abject indifference, everyone else in humor. “That will be $3,” she says.

I shake my head. “What?” I stammer.

“To replace nail is $3.” She says it slowly as if I’m a simpleton.

I point at the offending nail now protruding from the carpet.  “I’m not paying for that.”

“You no want to pay?” She inquires innocently.

I look at her for a moment, in complete shock that this is actually a question, before shaking my head. “You did that. I’m not paying for your mistake.”  Then, for reasons I’m not entirely sure of, I take this moment to actually count my fingers, as if she somehow shaved a finger off without me being aware.

“You no want to pay?” She repeats.

“I no want to pay.” I spoke as slowly and deliberately as she did.

She shrugs. “Okay. I pay.” Just like that, the matter is dropped and she’s moving on to burning the rest of my fingers.

I glance at my fellow victim…. uh…. patron of the store to find her smiling. Just as she gives me a nod of encouragement her clinician again raises up one of her fingers and begins speaking in that language we have yet to define. Just as before he shows my clinician and they both laugh. Whether garnered by the stand I just took or simply fed up she suddenly erupts.  “No!” She wags one of her other perfectly manicured fingers at the two clinicians. “No more of that! Stop laughing at my fingernails. You made them!” Both clinicians look properly chastised, my fellow….patron… looks supremely satisfied with herself. I was a little proud of her too.

Later, after both of us had been admonished for not washing our hands fast enough,  my fellow …. oh who are we kidding?…. victim … my fellow victim turns to me and says, “I swear I am going to run as fast as I can from this place and never come back.”  I giggled in response.

I dutifully returned to my clinician. I wasn’t thrilled that she had sawed off more of my nail length than I wanted but happy that the torture was over. After she painted a single nail in the pretty purple shade I had selected she cocks her head and asks, “You like the color?”

I smile for the first time at peace. “Yes.”                               IMG_8112“Really?”  She asks in that disbelieving tone people use to make certain you know they don’t agree with you.

Not sure why I felt the need to explain but I did. “I picked it for Easter.”

She looks at me quizzically.  “Easter? When is Easter?”

“I’m not sure of the exact date.”  I reply.

She stops painting my nails and looks at me like I’ve just sprouted two heads.  “You picked your nail color for Easter but don’t know when it is?”

“Well, it’s the end of March,”  I defend myself, obviously unprepared for this interrogation.

For a heartbeat, she merely stares at me, then shrugs.  But if I thought her shrug was the dismissal of the subject I was very wrong. The shrug was not yet complete when she launches into another conversation with her fellow clinician in their language. I blame it on the burnt nerve endings in my fingers but I’d had enough. “That’s rude!” I proclaim. But my declaration yielded nothing more than a pause in their conversation before they resumed in earnest. “Oh, my gosh! Where am I?”

That put a stop to their conversation. My clinician looked at me and gave me the name of the place.  I look at my fellow victim.  “Apparently, rhetorical questions are not part of their language.” I then give my clinician a fake smile. It worked. They shut up.

Still wondering what sort of weird dimension I had ambled into, I made my way to the counter to dry my nails.  Rather than the fancy mani/pedi automatic dryer, I was accustom to at Nail En Vogue, the timing system here was just a tad ….. shall we say different? They had an hour glass filled with what looked like purple slime which they simply turned upside down. Just as I was getting comfortable in the drying process my fellow victim’s slime ran out. Without further ado, she literally jumped from her seat, and true to her word, ran out the door, through the crowded parking lot and never slowed down until she reached her car. My only surprise was that she didn’t squeal  tires as she peeled out of the parking lot.

I nodded my head in respect.  “You go, girl!” I thought. Then I sobered and wondered if Nail En Vogue would take me back after my cheating. Would my slumming ways matter to them? What if I promised never to nail cheat on them again? Should I tell them? I don’t know what to do. I’ve never cheated before. Now, I have a whole new prayer to pray between now and my next nail fill-in.

Posted in My Life My Way, This N That

If My Dying Dog Could Read; This Is The Letter I Would Write

190269_1003890557482_6555696_n  I’m agonizing over our final hours together.  Each tick of the clock splinters my heart.  Through the halls of my anguished mind bounces the question, how do I say goodbye.  How do I let go?  How do I show you the love you’ve shown me?  And how do I convince my aching soul that you are only a dog?  An animal.  Something meant to be loved for certain, but should it hurt this much?  Am I out of balance to feel my world skewed at the mere thought of you not being in it?

You came to me in my darkest hour.  I needed you so much.  I thought I was getting a service dog for DJ but what I got was a therapy dog for me.  I felt utterly alone when Mom died so Steve took me to the animal shelter to look for dogs who could be trained as a service dog.   16563_1080684437281_829948_n

I spotted you immediately as we drove up to the shelter.  “Boy, he’s pretty.”  Were the first words I said about you.  With your red coat gleaming in the rare winter sunshine you barked as you approached me but we both knew you didn’t mean it.

Since you appeared to have the run of the place, I assumed you must belong to one of the workers there.  While I talked with an employee, you kept appearing at my side and leaning against me.  I was looking for a service dog to help DJ learn to walk so at first I thought I imagined you were leaning against me.  By the fourth time, I at last got a clue.   6249_1038834391056_5170869_n

Three days later Steve and I returned to the shelter with DJ in tow.  I needed to see how you responded to him.  DJ walked in with his little walker and you were called over.  It took less than a second for you to size one another up before DJ let go of his walker, grabbed the fur of your neck and the two of you walked off.  All these years later and that scene has never lost its impact.


The following day we picked you up at the vet’s office.  You busted through the door and despite having, only seen me twice, and the fact that we were seated behind the door, you came out of, you came right to me.  If anyone had any doubts before that moment removed them.  You belonged to us and us to you. That’s when the memories began.

The first time we left, you alone you freaked out and literally tried to chew your way out a window, leaving broken teeth in your wake.  You thought it was your mission in life to rid the world of cats.  You have such a huge personality behind your big soulful eyes that I never knew existed in an animal.  You were well behaved, easily trained, but also sneaky.  I didn’t have to say a word when I caught you on the couch.  You always climbed down slowly, head, and tail as low as they could be indicating you felt like the lowest of life forms.  You were funny, oh so funny.  But more than all those things, you possessed an uncanny ability to tune into the emotions and stability of your surroundings.  2012-11-23 23.42.50

I will never forget when two stray dogs came loping down the street, tongues hanging out of the sides of their mouths completely happy.  All they wanted to do was play.  You were fine until Colton got upset because he’d had a previous bad encounter with stray dogs.  You sensed that fear and put yourself between Colton and the dogs, letting lose a ferocious growl that scared even us.  Like cartoon characters those dogs came to a screeching halt, running away never to be seen again.  12941_1093670321920_6217877_n

While training you as a service dog I had to connect you to DJ.  Neither of you were pleased with the idea.  But as was your custom, regardless of how mad DJ got you stood your ground.  You did exactly what was asked of you and then some.  You took your service dog job very serious.   998508_4588442289035_378570338_n

In those painful lonely days after mom died, I would hug your neck and cry all over you.  You never flinched.  You simply sat there soaking up my pain through the tears that fell upon your neck.  And now here I am again.  This time there will be no crying on you because the pain is the loss of you.   OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I know when we walk in that vet’s office tomorrow you will be scared and I hate that.  I despise that your final moments will be spent in a place that frightens you.  I know you’re going to look at me with confused, hurtful eyes and wonder why I am doing this to you.  The answer is simple.  You have given so much to our family keeping nothing for yourself, how can I do any less by you?


In a little while, I will go to bed and the dreadful day will be upon us.  I will take that long final walk with you and endure your questioning eyes.  As the lethal drugs flow through your system stopping your heart, they will do the same to a part of me.  A portion of me will die with you and I don’t regret it because I have had the privilege of not just having a good dog but having a heaven-sent dog.  There will never be another like you and I am a better person for having you in my life.  Well, done my good and faithful servant; well done.

15316_1168613835461_7345327_n 2012-12-21 23.34.06 Jan 040 OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Posted in My Life My Way, This N That

Word Association: Pumpkin Latte, Naughty Selfie & A Boxer Dog

pumpkin latte  My hubby sends me a text after being out of town all day and wants to know if I need anything.  My response is well; I don’t “need” anything but would love a pumpkin latte.  His response was confusion.  That’s not too surprising considering he lives with me and I have a thing about drinks.  I’ve always got to have a favorite and the number one slot rotates continually.  I blame my current desire on my Facebook friends.  I’ve never even had a pumpkin latte.  But they keep posting pictures of their pumpkin lattes from various coffee shops and ranting about how good they are I felt left out.  And when I feel left, I out I revert to middle school age.  Hey, I’m not proud of it but let’s face it.  How mature could you be?  You’re reading my blog.  Which by the way I am very happy about.  Anyway…..

Hubby feels he’s married to 15 different women because I’m always changing.  I prefer to say evolving into a better me but he just refers to it as various steps in my insanity.  Texting or calling me after not talking to me all day is a bit like Russian roulette for him.  He has no idea who is going to respond.  I can sympathize with that.  The man has worked hard all day long, has a crazy wife, has been driving around in nutso weather, and likely is praying I want nothing just so he can come home and crash.  I get that.  But nowhere in my wedding vows did I promise not to try to lovingly manipulate him to get me something from time to time.  It’s game on, people!

I quickly determine the odds of my getting a pumpkin latte will significantly increase if I send hubby a little naughty selfie.  The first problem with this plan is that I’m over 40 and should not even be saying the world selfie let alone actually attempting one.  But I’ve never acted age appropriate so why start now?  Besides, you heard the part about the pumpkin latte right.  That’s not something you can get all year.  Its here for a while and gone.  The time to act is now.  (Oooh, if you say that last sentence in the voice of Jase Robertson from Duck Dynasty it sounds really good.)

I have a bra that matches a pair of yoga pants.  Add that to my thoughts of the farm theme for Jesus Prom and you will understand why I envisioned myself in the bra and yoga pants wearing a cowboy hat.  The desire for a pumpkin latte can do strange things to a woman.  I snatched up a cowboy hat, ripped my shirt off, pulled my hair into sassy little pigtails, and grabbed my phone.  Since I’m a novice at this, I’m thinking the fact that the cowboy hat is actually part of my son’s Halloween costume from a few years ago won’t matter.  Who doesn’t love Toy Story, right?

My next problem is that I only have an average intelligence phone and let’s be honest, it’s barely that.  Which means I don’t have one of those cutesy little buttons that turns the lens around make it easy to take a picture of yourself.  My selfie must be done the archaic way; standing in front of a mirror, angling the phone in a desperate attempt to get at least part of me in the picture while trying not to look as stupid as I feel.  To add to the glamour, I’ve been bed ridden for days with back pain so posing was painful fun.  Oh, no wait, just painful.

About 25 pictures later, I’m thinking I’m finally getting the hang of it and start to feel a little sexy.  That’s when a very pungent odor hit me.  No worries.  It was just my son’s way of reminding me that you can be sexy or you can change a diaper but you CANNOT, absolutely under any conditions, be sexy while changing a poopy diaper.  As I pass by my oldest son, who has Asperger’s syndrome is immediately offended at my appearance.  “What are you wearing?  That’s just wrong!”  He shouts.  Panicked I look down.  Yep, I got my shirt on.  Turns out he was referring to the hat.  I dismissed him.  He has autism.  What does he know?

Well, turns out, the boy knows quite a bit.  Perhaps, I should seek his advice on a daily basis, because I looked at the pictures and they are NOT pretty people.  In fact, I scared myself a little.  Exhausted with the incessant picture taking and excruciating back pain I decide trying to practice the art of seduction was going to kill me and if I were dead, the pumpkin latte sure wouldn’t matter then.  I emerged from my bathroom and stop dead in my tracks.

My boxer mix dog, who is significantly older than me, is standing just staring at himself in the full-length mirror.  I don’t think I have ever seen him do that.  I mean this dog is seriously checking himself out.  I swear he is evaluating himself for a selfie.  The thought makes me giggle.  He swings his head around and looks at me as if to say, “Really?  You’re gonna judge me, cowgirl?  Have you SEEN a mirror?”  With an indignant puff of air, he leaves the room.  Before I could respond (and yes I was going to go respond to what I believe are the thoughts of my dog) my husband came in with my pumpkin latte.  And I didn’t even have to try to seduce him for it. Ahh, true love.  I’ll just hide the pictures.  Now, where did that dog go?  We need to talk.    2013-11-03 12.00.38


Brondes Have More Fun

I have this misguided notion that I can do things without the education that others invested in, simply because I am determined. I know, right? Been that way all my life. On the upside, my many missteps along the way add a bit of flavor to my life. And believe me, I could major in mistakes.  Hey, look at that.  I am educated!  Anyway……

I am obsessed with hair color. I change mine, A LOT! And by a lot, I mean that my mother-in-law once got pictures developed and in a single package, I had three different hair colors. THREE! Who does that?

I colored my hair just hours before my very first date with my husband. My BFF, Neen, had worked hard at setting me up with him so she did not appreciate finding me with purple hair less than an hour before the date. In my defense, I think I should mention that Neen has no sense of adventure. Okay, she has a little sense of adventure – controlled adventure. Me? I am all out there. Which is why at the end of her very serious reprimand I replied “Oh, whatever. There is no sense in trying to dress all  this up. This man needs to know what he’s getting into cause lets face it, I got crazy you just can’t hide.”

My latest obsession is bronde hair. For those who don’t know, bronde is hair that is really neither blonde or brown but somewhere in between. I am a color-my-hair-at-home kinda girl with equal parts bravado and insanity so I trolled the web searching for ways to do it. When I discovered all the websites that advised not to do it at home that only spurred me on. Besides, it is only hair. It will grow out. I did mentioned the insanity part of my nature, right?

Obviously, I was not going to be able to capture the full beauty of these bronde ladies with a box color from Wal-Mart.



17th Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards - Arrivals


A trip to my local Sally Beauty Store was required. My hair has natural red tones that are highly insulted when I try to color them. They rise up and turn my hair all sorts of unnatural colors- hence the purple hair. When you buy box hair color, you are given the hair color and the developing cream, which you must combine. When you go to a beauty supplier, you have to remember to buy both color and developer. I opted for Ion Intense Light Neutral Brown to mix with the standard level 20 developer. Because Sally’s is a beauty store that caters to the professionals, you have to buy the color and developer. This picture shows the Ion color box and the economy size developer. You can buy a bottle of 20 developer that is measured precisely for a single use. But we all know I can make good use of the mega size.

2013-07-05 16.14.00-1

The result was a beautiful rich color that made me consider whether I should stop there. Then my Asperger kid, who has no clue what tact is, says, “So, did you mean to color your hair black?” So, then I thought perhaps I should carry on. On to the highlighting stage.

Knowing, it is never a good idea to try to make someone else’s hair appear on my head; I studied multiple pictures of bronde hair and selected the things I liked from each. Placing highlights can be tricky business, which is why I use highlighting systems that come with a cap that designates where highlights should be placed. Now, I was going to have to choose between being bronde or the safety of the cap. It took nearly a second for me to decide. Bronde hair here I come!

Bronde hair has two levels of lightening so I purchased two packets of lightening powder and two small developers in levels 10 and 30. Before mixing anything, I used my pictures as a guide and determined where I wanted the highlights placed. I used small, colored non-tangling hair bands to section my hair. I used green ones to indicate the placement of the level 10 highlights and orange ones for level 30. That made it possible for me to compare the pictures I liked to where the highlights would actually be on my head.

I know the pictures I am using are not the best but …well; I do not have an excuse. I just did not want to take the time to make sure I had perfect pictures. Do not judge me. I am VERY busy. You have no idea the amount of time and energy it takes to maintain my insanity.

2013-07-05 16.14.00-5

As you can see, I once again went with the Ion brand. Normally I would have used all the developers in the same brand but my local Sally Beauty Supply did not have all I needed so I had to mix and match.

I placed the lower level highlights, the powder mixed with 10 developer, first because the higher developer (30) would not need as much time to reach the desired result. However, I love very light blonde hair with significantly darker ends that was not my goal. I wanted darker roots that gradually faded into a lighter color but with an obvious color difference between roots and tips. The result was a bit darker than my goal but I was still pleased with it. And apparently, my results were subtle enough that it has been 2 weeks and my father-in-law has yet to notice. Oh, I know what you are thinking. He is a man, he will not notice. Uh, wrong. The man is geriatric and still notice more hair changes than any self-respecting gay man is. Anyway…….

I started with this hair color

2013-06-30 16.32.35








And ended with this one.

2013-07-15 17.32.39

I may not have the overwhelming beauty of the stars whose pictures I included but i can certainly tell you without a doubt that brondes really do have more fun.

Pint Size Kid With A Gallon Of Inspiration

This kid is amazing. His call to action is delivered with the perfect combination of humor, wit and conviction. You don’t want to miss this.

Click on the following link to see this this amazing kid. Pint Size Kid With A Gallon Of Inspiration

Posted in My Life My Way, This N That

What Happens When Rockin’ Boots, Fried Fish, Tall Girls & the KY Countryside Collide

This story starts the way many great stories start – with a great pair of awesome boots! I will go ahead and confess to my serious boot fetish. I’ve thought about seeking help but when I thought about it, I decided ‘d rather have boots than mental stability. Hey, I’ve made my peace with it you guys should too.

To make up for all the days I wear my granny panties, don’t shower and wear sweats, I dress to the hilt for my husband on his birthday. I’m telling you girls, it’s the cheapest gift ever. Take one day a year, dress a little slutty and put the money you save for his gift toward a great pair of boots. Men go nuts for it. This year I had to tone down the slutty because we were going out in public. Be as slutty as you want to be at home but know when to clean it up, ladies.

Anyway… have a thing about long-legged women, my husband especially. Therefore I wear heels to elongate my legs for him. I’m 5’8″ so I really don’t need the heels but whatever. It’s his day right? Steve is a bit shorter than me when I’m barefoot so you’d think he’d have a Tom Cruise complex about his height, but he doesn’t. He loves for me to wear heels even though that means his head is level with my chest. Oh, okay I see now why he likes it. Well…..moving on.

At my height these fav boots of mine put me over six feet tall. The skinny, partially stone-washed jeans I wore, gave the illusion of my body being comprised of legs alone. So, yes, the boots get me a lot of attention. The problem is that if I were in the Friends sitcom the men looking at me would go from Joey’s “How you doin’?” to Chandler’s “Aah!” in seconds. A tall confident woman in high heels is sexy. A tall confident woman just trying to remain upright – not so much. The distance between a hot leggy-chic and funny girl on stilts is surprisingly short.

When I wear my boots I make Steve walk really slow so it takes longer for people to realize I have no idea how to walk in heels. Otherwise, I’d just be stomping along scaring little kids. But evidently my altitude on heals makes my thinking a little fuzzy. So, when Steve said we were going to a fish fry I’m visualizing a metal building with smooth flooring in the city. I thought it was an odd birthday request but hey, I’m saving money for my next pair of boots so I don’t care.

Turns out the fish fry isn’t in the city. It’s not even in a building. It’s in the country. Do you know what’s in the country of Kentucky? Well, thankfully it was upscale country so I didn’t have to step around any smelly dark rings cows leave, if you know what I mean. You’d think Steve would tell me I’m over dressed but I’m beginning to think he prefers mocking his wife over having a sexy wife.

Did I mention the fun added by walking in heels on moist ground? That means I’m either towering over everyone or sinking below them. So, here I am walking around on my toes just trying to stay upright. Then I hear it. Laughter. I know they’re laughing at me because I’d be laughing at me. “What kind of idiot wears spike heeled boots to a fish fry?” Is what I’d be thinking. But then I realize I’d also be thinking, “What a great pair of boots”, so I no longer care.

I’m so clearly overdressed for the event I should be shamed but I’m not. Instead I’m pointing out to people how ridiculous it is for me to be wearing heels. I started asking people to walk by me a little slower because their wind sheer might knock me over. Nothing like laughing at yourself to get everyone else going.

In between grasping fence posts to remain upright, I began having more fun than if I was running around bare-foot. Which, by the way, was suggested more than once. What’s the moral of this story? I convinced my husband he has a hot wife, had fun making others laugh and bought myself another year of guilt-free comfy clothes.  Turns out slutty girl isn’t near as sexy or fun as goofy girl. Who knew?