Temporarily Out

There is a strange phenomenon that happens in our family on a regular basis. When the Hula-gen’s go to restaurants everyone gets what he orders. Except Hula. It doesn’t matter where I go or what I order, they are out of that particular item. It happens so often that we’ve come to expect it. It doesn’t happen to anyone else in the family. Ever. Just me. It’s a conspiracy. I’m the grassy knoll of eating out.

It’s not like I order weird stuff, either. It’s usually something fairly common. Like dumplin’s at Cracker Barrel. Last time I wanted ‘em? Temporarily out. Which is kind of like McDonald’s not having any French fries. The chicken and rice special? Nope. All gone. I’ve ordered something as simple as unsweetened tea and been told they were out of it. Tea, for Pete’s sake. Just the other day Hubby and I drove to a small town about two hours south of here to look at swimming pools and stopped at a decidedly empty restaurant touting its new citrus rice. I ordered the rice and actually thought I’d gotten lucky because the server cheerfully said thanks and turned in our order. Two pieces of buttered bread and fifteen minutes later she came back to tell me they had no citrus rice. Hubby and I laughed out loud and had to explain the humor of the situation to server Adele who had very little humor I must say.

We spend a lot of time explaining our giggles to servers because of how often this situation happens. We usually go around the table giving our orders with me near the end of the line. When the server kindly tells me they don’t have whatever it is I ordered, I usually say, “Of course you don’t,” and then we all erupt in big chuckles. On several occasions I’ve texted Teen Angel from miles away to share the moment. “At Perkins in Dyersburg. No rice.” “Cracker Barrel says no soup for me!” And her BFF usually laughs too because she knows the drill. For whatever reason, it’s just my lot in life to do without my first choice. That’s why I was not surprised when I couldn’t find the shoes I wanted last week.

For the past year and a half I’ve been wearing the cutest pair of slip on Sketchers on the weekends. They are white biker flats that are cute, cute, cute and can be worn with socks or without.

Photo courtesy: www.sketchers.com

They are comfortable and work with shorts, jeans or ratty yoga pants. They are the perfect tennis shoe to knock around in, and had I known how much I was going to like them I would have bought more than one pair. I have worn those suckers out and should have replaced them a long time ago. I was forced to deal with the issue after that unfortunate smelly feet incident at the gynecologist’s office recently. A trip to the mall turned up the same shoe in brown, gray and black, but not white. I went to every shoe store in the town but couldn’t find the white ones. No problem, I thought. I’ll just get online and order them. Not so fast Kemosabe.

I went to the Sketchers website and found the same exact style, and they were in stock, except for a couple of sizes, including mine. I went to another website. Same problem. Every size, but mine. In fact, I went to about a dozen websites. I spent forty-five minutes online searching outlets all over the country and I found plenty of shoes in all the other sizes. But not mine. Apparently, everyone with size seven feet wanted Sketcher biker flats in recent weeks. As Ralphie in A Christmas Story says, “Skunked again.” (As of today they are out of all sizes except for a 9 1/2. ) I finally signed up for an email notification from Sketcher for the date upon which they are available again. And then I proceeded to wash those stinkin’ shoes yet again. They’re on a weekly wash schedule now. I can’t bear to throw them away, although when I pulled them off last night and got a whiff of my feet I made a mental note not to remove them under any circumstances in the presence of other people from now on.

I can’t bear to give them up just yet, so I’ll hang in there a little longer and hope the folks at Sketcher stock up on them soon. In the meantime, if you’re out and about and see Straightaway white biker flat #21552 in a size seven, pick up a pair and ship them my way. I’ll reimburse you for the shoes and the shipping. I’d be forever grateful and anoint you as my new best friend. And while you’re at it, could you pick me up some dumplin’s at Cracker Barrel, too?

Watch Your Step

The Hula-gen’s are backdoor people. We use the backdoor to go in and out of our house all day long. Sometimes we use the patio doors, but we rarely use the front door. In fact, when the doorbell rings we give each other that, “What’s that?” look. Our backdoor is a busy place, and the steps are a snapshot of our days. If you pay close enough attention to that door and the steps leading to it, you’ll get a pretty good idea of how we spend our time.

You see, we don’t put away the shoes we use most. They sit on the steps in a neat little fashion, ready to go whenever we are. We never wear shoes inside the house. We just like them to be ready when we are. I’d like to say this has never resulted in me tripping over them and stumbling down the steps, but that would be a lie, and mama says to never tell a lie ‘cause it’ll bite you in the arse. In fact, it’s a dadgum miracle I haven’t broken a bone while dashing down those steps. However, we like our shoes there, and there they shall stay. In fact, in a couple of months some snow boots will likely join them. Bah humbug.

1. My slip-on yard shoes for walking the dog in wet weather. Bought for $3 at a clearance sale at New York and Company. They are ugly as homemade sin but perfect for navigating wet grass.

2. Hubby’s flip flops. Used for everything but yard work in the summer. I make him put on real shoes for mowing because the father of a friend of mine once cut off his toe mowing in flip flops, and they had to dig around in the grass to find the toe. I do not have a strong enough stomach to search the grass for a toe. Did you know they even made flip flops in a size 13?

3. My #2 pair of running shoes. The #1 pair stays in my locker at work because I do most of my running at lunch time. The #2 pair was a little less expensive than the #1 pair, but I still could have adopted a Russian orphan for the price of those stinkin’ shoes. And trust me, they do stink. (See previous post.)

4. Hubby’s tennis shoes. Used for yard work and knocking around town. Some strange lady at a hamburger joint recently asked him if she could use them for skis. Rude!

5. Teen Angel’s Rollerblades. She skates most evenings when the weather is nice.

6. Teen Angel’s Crocs. These are for traipsing around the yard in wet weather. I’ve been known to steal them when my yard shoes have gone missing.

7. Teen Angel’s black flip-flops. For traipsing around the yard in dry, warm weather. She obviously cares nothing about supporting her arches. Ah, youth.

8. Teen Angel’s white flip flops. Because she likes to be color coordinated even when she’s just goofing around the yard. Ah, female youth.

9. My black flip flops. Used in dry warm weather for just about everything. These have arch support because my feet are old.

If you ever come to our house, don't bother with the front door. Come in through the garage. Just watch your step. I don't really have a strong enough stomach for broken bones either. That whole bone sticking through the skin thing really grosses me out.

Foot Notes

Teen Angel's school choir wrapped up the year with their annual spring concert. They sang lovely, by the way. And the school band was great. (Except that extended piece from Phantom of the Opera went waaaaay too long, Mr. Band Director.)

I enjoyed it immensely, but the whole time I kept looking at Teen Angel's shoes and shaking my head. There is no stinkin' way I could have stood on those risers in those heels all night long. Ah, the vanity of youth. She certainly didn't inherit her love of sky high shoes from me.

My other thought throughout the evening was what parent gives his sixteen year old child permission for a tattoo that wraps around her foot? Are you kidding me???