Chickened Out

The car thermometer showed 98 degrees; my friend Hey Google said it was only 95 degrees. Tomato, tomahto. It was hot out yesterday afternoon here in Mesa.

Thanks to a Facebook feed that I got from Silver Sneakers, I learned that, at least in their opinion, working out via walking outdoors is a better workout than walking indoors on a treadmill. Silver Sneakers doesn’t live in Mesa, AZ! Though I do it, admittedly, walking on a treadmill is about as boring as exercise gets. So I accepted Silver Sneakers’ contention with great joy, and we were out walking early, around 7:30 a.m., to start our day with a bang.

We walked just over three miles, and during the final mile, as I was ready to curl up in a ball and let Bill roll me home, I heard my niece Jessie’s voice in my head saying – as she had when she was 10 years old and taking her aunts for a hike – now don’t wait until you’re tired to turn around. I had done exactly that.

Nevertheless, the three mile walk was about the highlight of our day. That, and a visit to see my sister-in-law Sami who is home after spending three weeks recovering from a broken back and subsequent surgery.  Bill put on his plumber’s hat and installed a handheld extension in her shower so that she can, well, shower. Sitting down, that is, as will be necessary for the immediate future. It’s the little things, folks.

Anyway, we were getting ready to drive home, and Bill asked if I would like to stop at the Superstition Ranch Market and get some more of the crack, er, Stewart’s Diet Orange and Cream sodas. (By the way, I bought a few bottles of Stewart’s Black Cherry soda for Alastair when they visited. As a result, I think I can count on him to care for me in my old age.) Anyway, I, of course, enthusiastically agreed that a stop for my favorite beverage would be great.

I was driving, as Bill (who has the joy of experiencing hay fever here in AZ and then again when we get back to Denver in May) had taken a Benadryl and was sleepy. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he didn’t install Sami’s shower head upside down, resulting in water spraying only towards the ceiling. Anyway, instead of our regular route home from their house, I headed the car down Main Street towards the Orange and Cream sodas.

“Oh, by the way,” Bill said innocently, “since the Tractor Supply Co. is right on the way, could we make a quick stop there? I want to take a quick look at their work boots. I’ll make it quick.”

I think he used the word quick too many times, and I should have been suspicious.

He, in fact, tried on two or three sizes of two or three different kinds of boots, all of which are heavy and stiff and unbelievably difficult to get on and off your feet, thereby resulting in about a 45-minute “quick stop.”

I was, however, very patient, because I recalled all of the times that Bill has patiently waited while I trolled the aisles of kitchen stores. Well, kind of patiently waited.

But do you know what happens as you are idly wandering around farm supply stores and it’s hot and boring and you’re dreaming of Orange and Cream sodas? What happens is that you actually start considering buying farm supplies. Or chickens…..

…and all of the accoutrements, especially since Tractor Supply Co. is celebrating Chick Days…..

We left Tractor Supply Co. without shoes, since, despite best efforts, he couldn’t find any that fit just right. I’m happy to report we also left without chickens. This is mostly because of a true story about a man who cut my hair for years. He talked and talked and talked about wanting to raise chickens and enjoy fresh eggs. Finally, after talking about this for at least a year, his wife agreed, and they bought chickens and built coops and eventually began getting eggs. And more eggs. And even more eggs. Until he found that there was no way he could keep up with egg production. He gave the eggs away to everyone he knew, but still, eggs, eggs, eggs. Finally, he sold Everything Chicken, and never spoke about it again.

But we did buy our sodas…

2 thoughts on “Chickened Out

    • I forgot about B.J. and his chickens. The ones I could have bought specified ALL FEMALE, so I wouldn’t have had the nerveracking period as I waited to find out the gender!

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