Not a minute later, my cell phone rang. It was Weaselmomma. I answered like anyone would answer their phone when they are happy to hear from someone, “Helloooo?”
And this is what I got: “Hi! Who the hell is this???”
Geez. Put the big “L” on my forehead. She didn’t have my number stored with my name and didn’t know who in the world was headed her way. So *that* conversation got off to a great start, not.
I think she has now stored my name with the number, so should I ever text her again, she won’t be scared out of her mind.
I told her I would call when I got close to the store, and if she could make it over there to say hi, great…if not, there’s always next week!
Something you’ll need to know before reading further: I started my morning reading the ever-hilarious (but strangely, lurking-but-not-often-commenting, hint hint) Nukedad’s column over at Scrivel. You need to read it. It’ll make you smile. Click here.
Welcome back! Now on with my story. I called Weaselmomma this morning and she wasn’t yet sure if she’d get to the store while I was there, so we just figured we’d play it by ear. At Woodman’s, I was walking around grabbing groceries for almost an hour when my phone rang. It was, of course, Weaselmomma.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“The coffee aisle. Where are you?”
I said, “Great! I need you to lead me to the lightbulbs and batteries.”
She told me to stay put, because I was pretty close to the lightbulbs. She was on her way. (Note: The lightbulbs ended up being in the aisle with the sign that said “lightbulbs”. Go figure.)
She made it over to the coffee aisle and I asked what she had been up to so far today, and she told me she’d spent some time on the internets. She said that we needed to talk about Nukedad in the coffee aisle (because of his column) so that we could blog later about talking about Nukedad in the coffee aisle after reading his column about the coffee aisle. (hee hee) So we did.
As I was grabbing a can of Folgers for Jim, I told her that I don’t like coffee, and that Jim, who drinks lots of coffee, has repeatedly tried to get me to drink coffee by telling me that if I don’t like the taste (though I *Love* the smell!), I should add milk and sugar to it. WHAT? Why bother?
Weaselmomma was in total agreement. In fact, she went so far as to actually say these exact words:
“You should go to Dunkin Donuts and order coffee with cream and sugar. You will FALL IN LOVE.”
I’m surrounded by pushers.
Anyway, we had some big-time laughs. I am certain that the store employee who was stocking the shelves near us was moving at a snail’s pace just so she could stay and listen to our scintillating conversation.
After acknowledging that we both love food (we were talking about workouts and the new Goal Getters blog community we have goin’ on), I pointed at Weaselmomma and said, “We both may love food, but I do NOT look as good as you.” (She’s a skinny little thing.)
She pointed back at me and said something like, “Oh please, I’m not toned. You’re fit and could probably kick my a$$.”
My reply? “Yeah, I probably could.*”
(Coming soon: Cage fighting, starring Weaselmomma and Melisa?)
We were discussing what I posted yesterday and she mentioned that she saw something (online? on the news? I can’t remember) about women who breastfeed their children until they are 6 or 7 years old. Both of us having been nursing moms (I almost added “when our kids were babies”, but come on now, that’s probably–hopefully–obvious, right? LOL), we agreed that in our opinion, once the kid starts lifting the shirt up and coherently asking for lunch, it’s done.
I mentioned that I wonder if American women (the ones who are nursing for YEARS) are doing that as another form of not being able to say no to their children.
Weaselmomma said, “My rule was always, ‘Once they get teeth, we’re done’.”
I said, “Yeah, but now what’s going on? If these women aren’t saying no, there might be a new rule: ‘Once they get braces, THEN we’re done.'”
We laughed our heads off at that thought, and then we said goodbye as I finished my shopping.
*Though I’m not really sure if I could. Weaselmomma is from Philly and is a tough cookie. I might put my money on her after all.