Just One of Those Days ...

When the 'you know what' hits the fan ...

This is one of those “You know you live in Florida when” … and another one, “You know you’re a senior when” …

But I digress.

I’m a person who loves going to flea markets. When my forever friend, Margie, called and invited me to go to one on Sunday, I was thrilled! I still had the now crumpled list of things I hoped to find from our last flea market trip on top of my dresser. I was excited.

The days dragged by until I woke up Sunday morning brimming with anticipation. Even my coffee tasted better. I jumped in the shower, dressed, and stuffed my list of ‘hopeful finds’ in my purse once more and headed out the door at the beep of her horn.

It’s fun taking a trip to the flea market with my best friend from high school. It reminded me of our summertime excursions ‘back in the day’ when we cruised Main Street talking about boys, new hair-dos, and movie star crushes.

Or when we packed my dad’s station wagon with friends for the Wednesday $1 per car night at the drive in movie in town.

Come to think of it, when we went anywhere, I usually drove, so this Sunday trip was doubly fun. It reminded me of our senior year and the only day we ever cut classes. Margie was driving that day, too.

It was early, but we didn’t care. We went to the A&W Root Beer stand and got a couple of root beer floats to sip while we enjoyed being as bad as two goody-two-shoes teens could imagine being.

We giggled and talked and laughed half the school day away enjoying our stolen freedom.

Then it happened …

As we headed up Cambridge Road, my dad’s car passed us in the other lane headed down Cambridge Road. Oh God in heaven, did he see us? His eyes stared straight ahead, so he probably didn’t see us! We would live to see another day, week, and year.

It would be twenty years before Margie and I found out the truth behind being called to the superintendent’s office the next morning. We were given a week of after school detention for cutting classes. Mr. Loos wouldn’t tell us how he knew.

Suddenly, Margie nudged me and broke my reverie. “Cath’, we’re here! You looked a million miles away. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was thinking about our senior year —the day we cut classes and had to spend a week in detention for it —-and it was my dad who turned us in!”

“Well, we’re here. You ready to bargain-hunt?”

“I sure am, Marg. I’ve been looking forward to this for days, ever since you called … Oh Shit! SHIT and TARNATION!”

“Cathy? What in the world’s the matter?”

“Marg, I’m so used to being barefoot, I didn’t wear any shoes! What’s worse is I didn’t remember that I didn’t wear my shoes! This blows our whole day …” (I felt the same as I did when I saw my dad driving down the street toward us all those years ago).

“Cathy, Cathy, Cathy … (shaking her head looking exasperated) … (big sigh) … give me ten bucks and I’ll go over, find the sandals guy, and buy you a pair. What size?”

… (I told ya) …

“You know you live in Florida when … you’re always barefoot and you never wear shoes.”

… and the other one …

“You know you’re a senior … when you forget you’re always barefoot and you don’t remember to wear your shoes … even when you’re supposed to.”

At least I won’t get a week in detention …

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