Today’s photo-a-day challenge is “fun.” Which is fine, for most people. But all this challenge does is remind me how many things other people think are fun that I just don’t. Allow me to depart from talking about books to list a few:
Running. Sorry, guys. I’ve tried. I know I’m supposed to think that going out for a run is the best most cathartic thing ever but, you know what? I hate it. I hated running in third grade when we had to run The Mile as part of fitness testing (and every year after that until I got to 11th grade and no longer was forced by curriculum to take phy. ed. classes). I hated running back before Erin was born and I actually used to go to the gym and run on a treadmill for half an hour or more. And I hate it now: the burning lungs, the stitch in my side, the feeling like I’m going to vomit when it’s all over. So, yeah. Running. I get that you like it. I wish I did. I tried.
Drinking. I understand drinking. Really I do. I hope you conversely understand that pretty much everything besides wine makes me feel like I’m going to vomit before the buzz even sets in. With wine, I never can tell what’s going to happen. Usually I sit up all night thinking I’m going to vomit and don’t. So go have your fun, but I’m going to sit here and have a Coke like a twelve-year-old because I know exactly what it’s going to do to me and when. No vomiting involved.
Karaoke. Oh dear God in heaven. I understand running. I even understand drinking. I do not understand the appeal of listening to people who can’t sing mimic songs you wouldn’t even want to hear on the radio until it’s your turn to get up and belt out a slightly off-key version of “Alone” or “Elvira.” Unlike the first two, there’s no vomiting involved, but here’s a story. Several years ago, I had to work an event on a Saturday night near St. Patrick’s Day. After this event, my coworkers and I went out for a drink at a bar that happened to have an Irish name. Why we didn’t have the good sense to leave when the karaoke started, I will never know. But we suffered through, shouting a conversation over an “I Will Survive” and a “Sweet Home Alabama” by patrons who sounded like they’d started the party much, much earlier. Finally, my dear friend looked around and said, “Is this what white people do for fun on Saturday night?”
Gardening. Oh, gardening, how I wish I loved you. But, see, gardening, you and I can never be, as I still work outside four hours or more in an eight-hour day, and you still take place outside in the St. Louis heat and humidity after I get home from said day. If you were something I could do either a) from the air-conditioned comfort of my home or b) only in months when it was 70 degrees out, we could be together. Unfortunately, just like the mailman isn’t going for a long walk when he gets home, I can’t go work outside in the heat all night or all Sunday. I just can’t. Maybe someday, gardening, but not today.
There are other things I just don’t think are fun: bachelorette parties (in addition to the not liking drinking or karaoke, I have no intention of wearing, carrying, or drinking out of anything shaped like a penis); Pinterest (categorizing my guilt into little pinboards where I remind myself how I’m not organized, stylish, crafty, or mother-of-the-year? And that I got married in Vegas rather than having a rustic Tuscan wedding with potted trees and/or Labrador puppies as party favors? I know my shortcomings without supercute social media); clothes shopping (I’m a size 6 bust, 10 waist and 12 hips, and I stay in similar triangular proportions no matter how much weight I gain or lose, so trying to fit clothes to me is a challenge of Hercules. Plus I look stupid when I try to look trendy, so I’m really best ordering Threadless tees from home); 3-D movies (sorry, they are NOT designed for people with glasses). But if I go on about them, it’ll make blogging cease to be fun.
There are many things I do think are fun, and you can feel free to skewer them in the comments: reading presidential biographies; trivia nights; museums; national parks; knitting; Words with Friends; camping in the middle of nowhere; star-gazing; road trips; concerts in small venues; and watching Erin empty my purse and examine every object like an anthropologist at a dig site, then loading it all back up for her so she can do it again. Just to name a few.
So here’s my “fun” photo. I had fun making it and fun taking it:
Abbi reads. And reads. 