Just Call Me Jack

I spent twenty dollars on juice. Juice!

Let me explain.

I have a cold, and I’m a mess over it. I made myself go to work Wednesday because, it’s just a cold, after all. Well, that was a mistake. I lost my voice by mid-morning, and I was slowly getting closer to the keyboard with every key stroke as I wrote pieces of a story that probably won’t make sense today.

Just before noon, I caved and asked my boss if I could go home. I had gotten a flat tire in the morning, because life can be really hilarious sometimes, so a friend from work took me home.

I napped for hours and N fed me all the things you feed people with a cold. Thursday morning I felt…still terrible, but much better than the day before. I got ready and left my apartment early to swing by a Starbucks. On the way there, I realized that I didn’t want coffee, but there was one of those fancy juicing places right next door to the Starbucks in Nichols Hills.

I walked into this sleek and clean room. There was a young woman behind the counter with long brown hair, a bright face, and a warm smile. I told her I had never been there before and that I had a cold, so that I was looking for something that might help make me feel better.

That is when everything gets a little blurry. She said a lot of fancy words about their fancy juices, and what she drinks when she isn’t feeling well. I was confused and my throat was hurting. I think all I said was– “Ok. Yes.”

She punched some numbers into the cash register and said $17.95 please. I had a twenty in my hand…and there it went.

I know cold press juices are expensive, and I was fully prepared to spend seven dollars on juice, but not all my cash. So, what in the world happened?

On my way out the door I started doing math…

The fancy juice was like eight dollars. I agreed to a morning shot of lemon, ginger, celery, and cayenne pepper– that was three bucks. Then I agreed to another bottled shot to take later in the day. The bottle is about the length of my index finger. Isn’t it cute?

Yeah. That was almost six American Dollars!

I sat in my car still wondering what the heck I had just done, and realized there was no way the clerk could be telling me the truth. She said she drinks the combo she sold me for several days in a row when she is feeling under the weather. Impossible! Unless she makes six figures, which I guess she could make based on how much they charge per drink.

I will say, everything I had was delicious, and I do feel better. That may have more to do with the DayQuil than the juice, or maybe it’s both.

There you have it. I played the title role in the modern day version of Jack and the Beanstalk. Moral of the story? I’ll buy anything if I’m hopped up on cold medicine and cough drops.

I better feel perfect tomorrow.

Bad Parenting

I am obsessed with my dogs. They are better looking, funnier, and smarter than anything you have in your life. There is a chance everyone feels this way about their pets, and maybe everyone isn’t right– including me. Gasp!

MilaMy dogs are Mila and Magnus, and they have taught me many things. The sappy stuff, like selfless love, patience, and the ability to clean up poop. They have also taught me some less impressive things about myself– mainly that my laziness and inability to say no to my dogs, and mean it, makes me a bad pet parent.

MagnusToday, I had one of those experiences mothers of toddlers talk about while they’re on their third glass of wine. It was an experience I didn’t see coming into my life for quite some time. A stranger was awful and judgmental about my dogs, and by extension, me. I mean, I am not saying he was wrong, but it was embarrassing.

I went home for lunch on Friday afternoon to let the dogs use the bathroom and play. I normally let them play on this large ungated patch of grass in my apartment complex on sunny afternoons because it’s calm and people aren’t coming in and out with their dogs in the middle of the day– except today.

Mila and Magnus are large dogs who are obsessed with small dogs. So, a redheaded freckle-faced man came out of the side door of a building with a white fluffy little cotton ball of a dog. We’ve encountered this dog before. It is as mean as it is cute, and it considers my dogs’ needy playfulness as aggression, so they are not friends.

Mila and Magnus saw this little fluff ball and his ginger handler, ignored all of my commands- which they only do when it’s really important they listen- and sprinted their way across a parking lot. The man picked up his dog as I ran behind mine. As I got closer, Mila and Magnus changed directions and ran into an enclosed dog area.

I sighed and said, “ok, we’ll just go to the gated area.”

I was talking to my dogs– feeling annoyed, but happy that there was no barking and no drama. Then, I heard it:

“They sure do whatever they want, don’t they?”

Ginger said it in such a neutral way, but I couldn’t help but think the dig at my dogs was really just a dig at me. I turned, made eye-contact with him, and debated what to say…

“At least my dogs are friendly.”
“Mind your own business.”
“You sure are a jerk, aren’t you?”

I settled for: “I guess they do.”

He doesn’t know N and I work with the dogs everyday. He doesn’t know Magnus is huge but still a puppy and has a hard time listening. If he knew, would he care? Probably not.

Like I said, he wasn’t wrong. My dogs embarrassed me and that man, all his freckles, and I knew that to be the case. Did he need to point it out?

Either way– Good burn, Ginger, good burn.