the international order of old bastards

I had a frustrating morning.  All I wanted to do was to bury my head under the covers and play groundhog for awhile, but unfortunately, I had a day job that required my presence.  And I was under strict instructions to get there on time!

So I dragged myself up, danced through the dwindling hot water after my husband’s lengthy shower, and made it to work with minutes to spare.  Most of my day was strictly status quo.  It can be eerily similar to the movie Groundhog’s Day around the bank which is doubly eerie since I’ve decided to have such a facination with the groundhog this year. 

I took advantage of the fact that my son was off today and had him run my errands for me in an effort to relieve some of the stress of being a full time mother, banker, blogger and wife.  It was an even exchange considering that I have been puppy sitting this week while he has been at work. 

Smack dab in the middle of my less than electrifying afternoon—just when I’d completely given up on excitement or even a bit of levity—an old man came into the bank.  He was easily in his seventies, maybe older.  He was in good health; at least he appeared to be from what I could tell of him in the short time we spoke.  He had the look of former military—tall, athletic build, with a spring in his step.  I took notice of him immediately because he was pleasant.  He smiled at me when he came in.  I was standing in the lobby, greeting customers as they came into the bank (not really my job, but I was helping out.)

The man was dressed casually, and because it was an almost spring-like day, he was wearing a light jacket.  It was black satin with his name stitched in gold letters across the left front pocket.  It was the kind of jacket you might see a bowling team wearing on league night. 

We shared a few brief words before he turned away to take his deposit to the counter.  The minute his back was to me I was able to read the fancy gold lettering on the back of his jacket.

“The International Order of Old Bastards”

Oh my gosh!  For most of my childhood my mother referred to my father as an old bastard, and now I discover there is actually an international order devoted to the same?  I needed to get an application for my dad!  He definitely needs one of those jackets!  Is he already a member? Does he even know about this?  I have no idea, but I can guarantee you I will find out. 

I only wish I’d taken a picture.  What was I thinking?

The rest of my day went smoothly after that.  How do you have a bad day after meeting someone from the International Order of Old Bastards?  It’s just not possible! That being said, I did have to take Alexa to the chiropractor after school. 

Going to the chiropractor is usually a risk free affair, especially for the spectator.  But we are talking about me, aren’t we?  Is anything really a risk free endeavor where I’m involved? 

No.  Unfortunately not.

The examination rooms at Alexa’s chiropractor are small.  They aren’t meant for an audience.   Most of the space is taken up by the exam table, with a good part used by the desk.  The floor space was barely enough for the doctor to maneuver, but my daughter doesn’t like going in by herself, and what mother can turn her back when asked to stay?  So there I was, trying to squeeze myself into the corner without getting in the way.  At one point the doctor stepped out while Alexa changed her clothes, and I once again, struggled to find a place to stand where I wouldn’t be a disruption. 

I didn’t pick my spot wisely.  I tucked myself between the wall and the desk, trying in vain to stand clear of the door that would swing open when the doctor came back.   I misjudged the space available, and bumped a wall shelf.  The end of the shelf slipped off the bracket and all of the shiny stainless steel implements resting upon the top slid in rapid succession until they fell with a reverberating “clink, clink, clink, clink” on the desk below.  Alexa shook her head and said something to the effect of, “can’t take you anywhere, Mom,” while I scrambled to restore the shelf and return everything to its rightful place before the doctor came back in. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.  I’m his banker, so maybe he was just being nice. 

I won’t be taking Alexa to her next appointment.  Her brother will be doing the honors.  I doubt she will invite him in, but even if she did, I doubt he would clear a shelf in the first five minutes.  He may not look it, but he’s more graceful than I am.  Then again, it doesn’t take much to be more graceful than me. 

The rest of my night was far more uneventful.  I made dinner (by myself) and didn’t burn the house down or flood anything.  I didn’t even drop or spill anything.  Don’t worry…there’s always tomorrow!

Until the next time…I’ll be filling out that application for my dad!

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Posted on March 18, 2010 .