When Catfish Attack

A few years ago I was lucky enough to be selected as matron of honor in my best friend’s wedding. When you read how the weekend of the wedding played out, you will see how she likely wished she would have chosen a more coordinated wedding party member.

Jessica and I have been friends ever since we met in Mrs. Jones' fourth-grade classroom. We have a long history. Our grandparents were childhood friends, and Jessica's mother was a brides­maid in my mother's wedding.

I know this is tedious and sen­timental, but I have a point. I did everything I could to help this wedding go smoothly. Could it be possible that I jinxed myself?

I am normally a pretty smart and coordinated gal, but some­how in this complex construc­tion of an existence that I call my life, I lost my groove.

In the weeks prior to the wedding, I had my own “series of unfortunate events.” Let us start with what was sup­posed to be a sponta­neous and innocent trip to pick blackberries. It was rain­ing, and we were having fun picking berries on the side of a dirt road in Florida. The proper­ty we were on had a no tres­passing sign, but so did most every other piece of property. It's just to keep pranksters and the like at bay.

We were about 15 feet deep in the woods, when my friends decid­ed to tell me about the man that owned the land shooting a dog because he trespassed. Imagine my surprise when I heard a four-wheeler approaching? Running is not the word for what I did (fly maybe, but even that seems mainstream). The scratches from the briars didn't bother me as much as getting my shoes stuck in the mud. Fly­ing wasn't possible at this point.

This sight wasn't pretty, and it gets uglier. Further down the road, we saw plums and decide we wanted some. The ants did not like us stealing their food. They fought back and won. Being mildly allergic to these beasts, I carried home with me blackber­ries and one-inch red welts that later turned into nice-sized blis­ters.

A couple of days later more misfortune befell me. I tried to get out of bed before I was awake evidently. The result of that was a rather large lump on my right shin bone. I put ice packs on it, to keep from having yet one more defect upon my leg during my best friend's wedding. It didn't bruise, but from certain angles, it looks like I have a growth on my leg.

After that, I made it three days without incident It wasn't until the night of the rehearsal dinner that my next mishap was to occur.

Since the wedding was at a lake, the wedding party stayed the night there in a cabin. Nice, huh? Well, it was until I tried to make it to the boat landing at night without a flashlight. Those evil briars got me again.

If all of these accidents were separate, and if they didn't come before a momentous occasion, nothing would be thought of it. You may say that this last invasion of plant life is inconsequential. But the wed­ding was to take place on the beach of the lake. We were to be barefoot.

The big day arrives, and the matron of honor looks like a battered rag doll. The brides­maids are on the right side of the audience. But do we face them head on? No. We were instructed to turn at a particular angle. This was the perfect angle to see my bump and many other imperfections. In the two weeks before this wedding, I managed to obtain a growth on my right shin bone, seven angry red bumps all over my right leg, and the scratches on my toes were beginning to resemble an outbreak of poison ivy. (It was.)

But as I stood up there watch­ing my friend say her vows, I forgot about my problems. Afterall, this wasn’t about me. The people attending didn’t have their attention on me. I wasn’t the important one. They really shouldn't notice any defects on me.

Then right behind me comes a splash. A catfish evidently mis­took up for down and missed his prey. Or did he? A squeal and a leap later, everyone's eyes are upon me.

So much for remaining inconspicuous.

Move over

There is nothing more detestable than the uninsured on our nation's highways.

When driving, they wait until you are right upon them then go right out in front of you as if it is some game. When they make it with out being hit, they celebrate with their friends. “You should have seen the look on that woman's face. She looked like she wanted to scream, cry and vomit all at the same time.”

And sometimes they do get hit. Do we feel sorry for them? Of course. They give us such pitiful looks as if saying, “Why did you let this hunk of metal harm me?”

I have been a victim of this guilt, and I didn't even do any thing wrong.

I was just going along my route as calmly as could be and BAM, something hit the side of my car so hard my window busted. There was also considerable denting, paint damage, not to mention my mirror was never to be seen again.

Who was to pay for the wreckage? It certainly was not the being laying on the side of the road. Nor did she have insurance. If I thought she would live, I would consider suing for damages.

Oh you think I am so bad, don't you?

I'm writing about the deer that decided to play chicken.

A friend of mine was victim to this game last year, and it needs to stop.

So, to rectify the situation, I propose a new law for the four-legged beasts.

Deer need a license to roam. The state of Alabama needs to declare this a state of emergency situation and contact each and every deer immediately. Law enforcement will bring them in and instruct them on the rules of the road.

1. Look both ways. Left, right and left, again, be fore  crossing the road.

2.  And do not psych the motorist out, either. Sure it may be fun to see how far drivers will yank their car when you tease them, but you are damaging your own habitat.

Think about it. The next time you gleefully watch a vehicle sailing through the air, watch what happens when it comes crashing down. Each tree they hit, each yard of grass they dig up, is less room for you to live and less vegetation for you to imbibe in.

3.  If you do find yourself in the middle of the road when cars are approaching, MOVE. Yes, the lights are bright and pretty, but quit staring. The vehicle behind those lights will plow you down.

4. Leave your offspring at home. It makes the motorist feel worse, when they have hit you and your brood sprint away from the scene.

And that leads me to my last rule.

5. No more of this cute business. No more movies and no more looking nice and pretty prancing across the fields. It makes it harder to be mad at you when we do cross paths.

Have you ever been hit by a deer? Ever hit a deer?

Unrequited Love

The first word that comes to mind with this thought is generally cowardice. But, wait a minute. Think about it. If it’s never requited, it remains the same always. It’s never blemished by mistakes, unfaithfulness, too many children or not being able to have children at all. It stays beautiful. Mistakes don't have the chance to mar it. Is it possible that unrequited love could be better than the real thing?
Sure. That person remains an ideal, a dream in your head forever. She’s a thought to hold onto, to romanticize, to fantasize. Unrequited love is a love that’s never ruined.

What do you think about it?