If you can, but doubt you should, do you anyway? Yeah, me too.
A couple of days ago my co-workers and I were having a deep, philosophical discussion during lunch. Our discussion went beyond the normal, “What did you do last night?” and “How is your day going?”
I love working with smart people. They provide me with opportunities to flex my gray matter.
“I’m crazier than anyone I know,” Savnah said somewhat bragging.
“What makes you so crazy?” I asked, jumping into the conversation.
Her response was less than spectacular. She said something about running around at night, hunting alligators, in a tiny boat, in the swamps, of the Everglades.
“Sweety. That isn’t crazy. That’s just southern rednecks having fun.”
Yes. This is often the subject of the intellectual discussions at work.
I love the depths to which we are willing to go.
While Savnah looked on I said, “Oh sweety. I can out crazy that without even trying.”
Peggy sat eating her sandwich and listening to the attempt of one of us to out crazy the other.
She was not getting in to this competition. I think she knew it would be a waste of words. Then again, it’s possible that don’t know the real Peggy.
“Picture it. Eleven o’clock at night. Darkness all around except for a couple of flashlights. Two women, decked out in their Saturday finest of shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops sitting on wrought iron furniture facing the east. Two plants perched on stands in front of them being illuminated by the lights. All is quiet on the horizon.”
“Brighter lights pierce the dark as a car approached. It stopped outside the fence. A young man exited the car and walked through the gate.”
“Hey, Mom. What are y’all doing sitting in the dark?”
“Watching and waiting.”
“For the damn betrayal flower to bloom.”
“Have y’all had a bit too much to smoke?” he asked, wisely remaining out of slapping distance.
“Exactly what is a betrayal flower?”
“Remember your Aunt Carol gave me a piece of her night blooming cereus? She told me they only bloom at night and the entire process from bloom to death takes place in just a couple hours. I’ve had this stupid plant for fourteen years. I’ve fed it. I’ve watered it. I’ve talked to it. I’ve protected it from the winter. And I’ve waited for it to bloom. When I went to Tallahassee in the summer the damn think bloomed while I was gone. If that’s not betrayal I don’t know what is.”
“Um okay. Enjoy your flower blooming,” he said as he escaped in to the safety of the house.
I nudged my friend sitting beside me. “He thinks we’re crazy.”
“Aren’t we? Because if we aren’t I don’t anything else to push us over the edge.”
“You know, I’m really bummed about this flower blooming.”
“Why is that?”
“I am not wearing the appropriate earrings for a flower blooming. I don’t even have the proper earrings for a flower blooming.”
Her look said more than her words did. “Um, what exactly are the appropriate earrings for a flower blooming?”
“Savnah,” Peggy said. “She wins and you haven’t a chance against that kind of crazy.”
She then turned to me and said, “ Exactly what are the appropriate type earrings to wear to a flower blooming?”
“I don’t know because I don’t have them, but I guarantee I will by the next flower blooming.”
(true story – every tiny bit)
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
© 2015 All Rights Reserved