Retirement Is A Walk In The Park

This post is dedicated to D. You know who you are. Years and miles do not separate friends.

I retired a step at a time.

Step One.  Go from full to part time. Do that for a month                                                       Step two.  Break it to my class that I will not be returning next term, then run like crazy.     Step Three.  Sub as needed for a couple of months. (Hug my former students at this time as by now they have forgiven me).  Not so sure about my former boss, though. (Hug her anyway). 

I was excited about being one of the people out running errands in the middle of the day. I was excited to get to walk and keep in shape. I was excited about my soon-to-be immaculate house. I was excited about yard work. I was not excited about my newer lower income, but you have to take the bitter with the sweet.

First whole day home. Take a hike. Ron and I walked to the nearby grocery store two and a half miles away, then back again.



I collapsed into the chair at home with imaginary headlines running through my mind: Wet woman found dead on street on first day of retirement. News clips of my grieving children asking “Why why why” running through my mind. But. That’s not the worst part. Not even close.

Before I go on, let me give you all a little tip: Never. Again I say Never walk 2.5 miles after coffee, cause that’s how far I got before disaster struck.

Yes, it happened. I say this because I do not want to admit that I had anything to do with it. It Happened! It Happened, alright? I peed my pants.

Soooo, that required some evasive maneuvering, agreed?

Here’s where I tell you a story. My friend speaks of the time she’s at the drag races with MR. Perfect Date.  She’s wearing her cute little jeans, he’s got his arm around her shoulder, the night has promise…till she has to use the ladies’. The line snakes around the building. (Possibly the reason that snakes are perceived as evil) and I think you can guess the rest. Yeah.

Quick thinker that she is, she steps to the sink, rips off the jeans and hoses them.

This is why women should rule the world.

Back to my predicament. Hubby followed close to my posterior side, and I slunk into the bathroom, hopefully avoiding discovery.

“Oh boy!” I panicked, ” I have to remove my shorts and rinse them out at the sink. The one NOT behind closed doors. The one leaving me naked and shivering in front of whoever comes in… including the janitor!” I wasn’t really naked but the fear was the same.

Risky behavior for someone who stops at all yellow lights. But sometimes you just gotta sink or swim.  And sink them I did, then wrung them out and stepped into them, blotted the excess and I was off to the races. No one the wiser. Except me.

Disaster averted.

At home here’s  how the rest of my day went:

Step One.  Shower

Step Two.  Laundry

Step Three.  Nap


About nan5perkins

Been there, done that, got the t shirt, now use it to dust.
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