I am very much in a mood to write today, but for some reason I cannot get my ADD brain to narrow down a topic. I hate when this happens. My fingers are dying to be typing away and my brain is a jumble. Kind of like restless leg syndrome, only it’s restless finger syndrome, which just sounds ‘wrong’ on too many levels to call it that and idol hands are the devil’s workshop and…never mind.
I wish I could blame the inspiration issues on The Backyardigans but we’re not watching them of late as the baby I watch just isn’t quite into them yet. I reached for a box of Table Topics in desperation for just ONE idea rather than the fragments floating around in my head. Sadly, at 3am this morning when I woke up I had several great topics in mind. I know, I should have written them down, but there was nothing handy except the white board on my closet door. That meant getting out of the bed. The bed on which the electric blanket resides, keeping me warm all night. The bed that is SO comfortable that I can justify hitting my snooze alarm 10 times on any given morning so I don’t have to leave the warm, cozy place I don’t spend enough time in lately. I was sure I’d remember what I had woke up thinking about.
Anyway, I promised myself I would write about whatever topic I pulled from that box. I should really just not write because this could be a dangerous thing to do sometimes. And believe me, it COULD have been very dangerous and yet oh so juicy, as I pulled the card that says, “What’s under your bed?”
Now I will be completely honest, I wasn’t sure. I can feel my friend over at Martinis Needed cringing now, because under a lot of beds one will find clutter. Three weeks ago I know that I had 3 rolls of Christmas wrapping paper under the bed…from Christmas 2010. It served to be a good place to shove it in a hurry after wrapping gifts that year, on Christmas Eve, just before the entire family descended on the house. After that it proved to be entertaining to the cats, because cats like things things that make crinkle noises. Those rolls are no longer there, as I had to wrap things again this past Christmas and I used it all up. 
But I never actually looked under the bed for the paper, because I could just reach under and feel it. I wasn’t entirely sure there was not more until now.
I pulled my handy dandy, never needs batteries, black cat flash light off my vanity and got down on my hands and knees to have a look under the bed. By the way, it never needs batteries because it has a little lever that pops out on one side and you pump it up so to speak to charge it. This thing is so cool because most of the time, when a flashlight is needed, Murphy’s Law dictates the batteries within are dead. But back on track here as I’m hijacking my post. Brace yourself, this is top secret stuff.
What is NOT under my bed:
There was no body. Shocking, I know, as I have 2 ex-husbands and a recent ex-boyfriend that is a pompous ass.
There are no dirty clothes. I actually put all my laundry in a hamper now, in my closet, and do my own wash. SO unlike when I was a teenager and had to walk past the laundry shoot going to and from the shower and instead of sending the clothes down the hole to the basement laundry area, I shoved them under my bed like any logical teenager. How else could I later have a fit over the fact that I had no clean clothes and blame my mother for losing them? Not even a stray sock was under the bed now. I only buy white, little footie socks, no hassle when it comes to mating those puppies.
Sorry dad, no dirty dishes, or cups of mold. In high school I was working on discovering a cure for cancer and the development of a super antibiotic. At least that is what my father would tell you. Whenever there was a shortage of coffee cups he went to my room to find them. I had a habit of getting a cup of milk and sugar with a little coffee (I drank java like daddy did), taking it to my room, drinking half and then forgetting it. In an effort to find a clear spot on my desk to do homework, or the nightstand for another cup of coffee, I would stuff those cups all over the place. Dishes too. Never mind that I went up and down from my room to the kitchen a dozen times a day and could have taken the dirty dishes with me. It is no small wonder we never had a problem with rodents or roaches.
No bizarre objects that cannot be defined, no hair ties (mine is too short to tie in anything), no pencils, pens, books, old mail, mismatched shoes….no none of the standard things you might find under any female’s bed.
What I found under my bed:
A power strip. My phone charger cradle, 2 vanity lamps and a small fan on the vanity are plugged into it. The small fan because I’m moving about in an on again/off again personal, tropical climate known as hot flashes of late.
1 pair of slippers. Not bad, as I own 3 pair. I have to be coordinated even when it comes to sleepwear (even though single) so I have slippers to go with any of my jammies. Laugh, but when my fat butt is being carried out of a window due to a house fire, when you see the footage on the 11pm news you’ll remark how cute I look in my PJ’s and matching slippers. You know you will!
1 pair of running shoes. I wear them for better support when walking. I own several pair, but only one is under the bed, the rest are neatly in a shoe rack in the closet.
1 box fan. Look, there is no where else to put that thing right now, so I layed it down and pushed it under the bed.
Yep that is it. The deep, dark, naughty secrets of what one will find under the Marvelous One’s bed. Nothing exciting, not even one of the cats. Actually they are busy trying to figure out how to get in my closet, where mine recently discovered 2 very large, feather boas from costumes gone by. She thinks she made the kill of the century when it comes to fowl and keeps trying to drag them away.
I’ll have to work on getting a body or two, or some blood evidence under there, something exciting at least.
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Welcome to Wine & Cheese, my weekly, Wednesday whine session.
I am most unhappy with myself at the moment. I logged in to my Sparkpeople account and was very disappointed in myself. I had set a goal to get the weight off by my 50th birthday…and I failed. Mostly because I never bothered to TRY to get it off. I grew very comfy with the ‘curvy’ me that so many men tell me they like. But I know it is not healthy and with high blood pressure and heart disease floating in the family, not to mention cancer of a few forms, I need to stop ignoring that my being a few pounds over weight is NOT a good thing. There is nothing sexy about poor health.
I forgot my running shoes today. I don’t run, but I do love to walk and when I was shopping for good shoes the folks in the running store fixed me up with these saying it would be better for me support wise etc. I meant to bring them so I could walk at lunch. I have on my work tennis shoes but those aren’t supportive enough.
