I Wish I Were an...

So, Bonnie and I went to lunch today.  She works at the school near us (same school she attended), and so I get to see her most days, either before, during, or after work.  Or all of the above.  We went to Fazoli's, ordered the same thing, texted the same person repeatedly through the meal, and laughed a lot.

In some ways, I think Bonnie got the best of my mothering years.  I had more time alone with her than I did with the others.  To me, it seems logical that she would have gotten the least time, but it didn't turn out that way.  Kyle only had sixteen months to be the "only child" before Kacy came along, and neither Kacy nor Brad was ever the "only."  But Bonnie had quite a bit of time after everyone else moved out, and I think that's why we have this weird, crazy bond.  We already know what the other person is thinking, usually, and sometimes we start laughing before it even gets said.

We often do this thing where one person starts something, and the other person is contractually and morally obligated to finish it.  In our family, that's called "answering the pepperoni."  It comes from a scene in The Epic Classic Television Drama "Gilmore Girls."  The scene went something like this... Daughter Rory's boyfriend was having a conversation with mother Lorelai's boyfriend about how to get along best with the girls.  Dean said something like, "If you're having pizza with them, and Lorelai decides that the pepperoni is mad at the mushrooms because the mushrooms have an attitude, and she holds up the pepperoni and it asks for your opinion, don't just laugh.  Answer the pepperoni."  It just means "always go along with the bit."  In our family, not answering the pepperoni is a borderline mortal sin.  Go along with the bit.  Just do it.

Right now, I'm not even sure why I brought that up.  Hmmm, where was I going with that?  I guess I was just gonna say that Bonnie can always be trusted to answer the pepperoni, and it means that we spend a LOT of time laughing, because life is a "bit."  There's always something funny.  Always.

So today, there we were.  We'd had lunch, and then on the way back to the school, my car decided to have an odor.  At first I imagined it to be an "I need oil" (which we pronounce "earl"... because life is a bit) sort of smell, and we called Dennis.  Why, you ask?  Because that's what we do.  Bonnie called her dad, who was at the gym (where we were headed), and told him of our dilemma.  We got back to the school, texted him that we were outside, and then we sat in the car and chatted while waiting for him to show up.  I really don't know what we were doing... we just weren't done being together yet, and the whole "car odor" was just a pretext for hanging out a little longer.  Bonnie opened her door, glanced under the car, and noticed that there was drippage, which we already knew to be condensation from the AC, but still... it might have been a problem.  Ya never know.  She's a good car-problem-diagnoser, obviously.

So eventually, Dennis came out, and while he was walking toward us, we discussed whether or not there was any creature on earth that walked slower than he does sometimes.  I told her that I once saw a sloth go flying past him.  By then, he was in earshot, so we changed the subject.  Neither one of us had so much as budged from our positions in the front seats, mind you.  I did pop the hood opener thingie for him, though... with my foot.  Then we discussed whether or not my toenail was cut crooked.  Bonnie thinks no; I think yes.  Dennis checked the oil (the earl) and it was fine.  Then he said I needed some antifreeze, and at that precise moment, I realized it wasn't an "I need oil" odor, it was a "I'm a hot car" odor.  Dennis said he would add some antifreeze tonight, and I said that I'd try not to let it freeze in the meantime.  He said, "Antifreeze helps with the heat, too..." and Bonnie and I looked at each other and snickered, because of course I was being a smarty-butt.  Then I told her a story that is much too personal to share here, but trust me, it was stinking funny.  Dennis went in to get some water to add to the car's water thingie (I have no idea), and still, we hadn't moved.

So that was when Bonnie laid it on me:  I hadn't blogged in a few days, and this is unacceptable.  Oh dear.  So we discussed some things to blog about.  It was decided that I should tell The Wiener Story.  And no, it has nothing to do with Anthony.

(Troubling side-note:  I always want to spell "wiener" like "weiner."  It's a very commonly misspelled word, and I do not like to misspell.  So, just now, to be sure, I Googled weiner.  Big mistake.  Whoa.  But, I did find that it's for sure spelled "wiener."  It comes from the word "Vienna," so I hope this helps you with your wiener-spelling in the future.)

Anyway... The Wiener Story.

So there we were, driving over to Bucky's to get a pop.  That was when we heard harp music, the clouds parted, and a beam of sunlight shone over on the HyVee parking lot.  And what did we see, you might ask??  We saw The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile.  It was like a dream come true, a vision from heaven.  Admit it, you would love to just happen to see the Wienermobile on your daily travels.  I mean, who wouldn't?!?

Bonnie yelled for me to pull over, and so I veered across several (or one) lane of traffic to make our pilgrimage to the holiest of all vehicles.  She kept saying, "I need to hug The Wiener!  I need to hug the Wiener!"  We whipped into a parking space, and leapt out.  Well, she leapt, I sort of rumbled.  There were two Wiener Attendants squatting in front of The Wiener self-taking pictures of themselves.  Bonnie ran over and said, "Can I hug your Wiener??"  They were a bit confused, I guess, and said, "We don't have any hot dogs... we only have whistles."  (Huh??)  And Bonnie said, "No, can I HUG.  YOUR.  WIENER?" and pointed at it.  They said, "Oh... sure."  And she hugged that Wiener.  And I took her picture.  I hugged it too, and we admired it for a bit.  Then they gave us Wiener Whistles.  (It just occurred to me that perhaps The Wiener Attendants thought we were strange.  Well, THEY were the ones self-taking pictures of themselves with it.  Pffft.)

To this day, that Wiener Whistle on a stretchy string, dangling from my rear-view mirror.  Somehow, it became a "bit" that whenever we go through a yellow light, someone yells, "Blow the whistle!" (or something like that) and the other person has to blow the whistle.  Life is a bit, ya know.

So, that is The Wiener Story, subtitled "One of the Best Days of My Life."


wyn said...

You are a bona fide nut! I before e rule actually works with wiener, I guess!

Scott said...

Blowing the Wiener!, not going to touch that one (ntto); Dennis moving slow, much of life's "bits" could explain his untimely early aging living with you all, not moving from your seats, not a shock...classic blog post though sis, seriously...

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