Getting fooled by a well-crafted and outrageous April Fools joke is exhilarating!  That happened to me last year.  The mastermind was my sister JoAnn.  She had every detail and angle sewn up.  She knew my weak spot and pounced.  I will never forget it.  I believe it is the best April Fools joke ever.  She is my hero.

First, JoAnn started her ruse early in the morning.  Just like D-day, she knew I would have brain fog when she stormed my beach.  I did not even have my coffee yet.  Second, she tugged at my heartstrings.  So evil.  She was the big bad wolf dressed like sweet granny.  This is what she texted me:

Micki.  In order to encourage Dad to keep going and to pick up his spirits, I dyed dad’s hair black like he had when he was a kid.  He loves it!  Come over and see it!

Are you kidding me????  My mind started racing.  My heart started pounding.  My eyes began to water.  My sister defiled my Dad!!!  I never knew him without his gray hair.  He is 93 years old, for goodness sakes!  Dark hair will look crazy!  And then this totally dawned on me and my heart sank to my knees:

WHO IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF DAD’S ROOTS!!!!  

Yep.  His roots.  His roots were my biggest concern.  But hey.  My roots are my biggest concern, and now my Dad will have black hair and white roots in a matter of days!   What was JoAnn thinking?  Why did she not ask us sisters first?

With that one foolish unilateral act, my anger began to grow toward my sister.  She is the dumbest human to walk the planet.  In what world was that a good idea?  And, do not give me the “dad likes it” crap.  Dad is not the one who will have to take care of it, or look at its ridiculousness as we speak.  She made Dad into a laughing stock monster.

I then received the following text:

I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to punch JoAnn.  Brilliant.  She got me.  She got me good.  I will never be that clever.  She is my hero.

I come from a family of clowns.  Not literally.  But my mom was funny and she passed it down.  Life is better with humor.  Humor is one big pearl.

For the second part of the story.  JoAnn calls me this morning.  She tells me this:

“Dad’s neighbor, George, works at the Lincoln Park Zoo.  He brought home two monkeys dressed in bunny ears and carrying Easter baskets.  They are hilarious!  He must of brought them home for the grandkids.  Anyway, they will only be here a few hours.  Come over and see them!”

Oh no, you big Bozo!  Do you honestly think I forgot about last year?  No way.  I did not bite.  But my sister, Betsy, did!  And hearing about Betsy’s reaction had me crying.  Betsy instructed JoAnn not to bring bananas without asking George first.  Monkeys can get frenzied if you show them something they cannot have, she warned!  That’s right.  I went to roots and Betsy went to banana frenzy!

Again, JoAnn is my hero.

So, you know I have been sick.  At first it presented as a terrible head cold.  Then, day five, it felt like I have been punched in the face.  I could not breathe and the sinus pressure was incredible  The cold also descended into my chest.  It hurt.  My glands in my neck blew up.  I swear I looked like the Mucinex Man.  I went to Urgent Care in a pony tail and my slippers at 8:45 last night.  I got an antibiotic.  I will be fine soon.

The point of this post?  I LOST MY TASTE BUDS!!!!!  Are you kidding me?  This has never happened to me before.  It is just crazy!  CRAZY!  Maybe this is blowing my mind because I value the taste of food above my own children.  Strike that.  Below my children, above my siblings.  HAHA.

Yesterday is when “Taste Bud Gate” started.  I ate a hamburger and tasted NOTHING.  Weird because it had everything on it.  Mustard, ketchup, mayo, tomato, pickle, even onion.  I was not feeling very well, so I blew it off.  Too tired to care.  In fact, I passed on a Klondike bar because I figured I could not taste it anyway.  You think I would be thrilled.

But this morning I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I’m chewing and tasting NOTHING.  I could not tell you if I was eating peanut butter or liverwurst.  I could not tell the flavor of the jelly.  It was strawberry, but it could have been pickled herring! Not only do I not taste it, but I could not even tell you if I was eating something sweet, salty, bitter, or even Cajun!  Now, I am getting a little irritated.  No.  Very irritated!  So much so, I had to write about it!!!

I ask myself – “what is the silver lining?”  Well, I never knew how horrible it is to be unable to taste.  If you, or someone you know, suffers from this, I am truly sorry.  Dare I say, this is very HELLISH.  I am even having a slight panic attack that it my taste buds will not return.  Sayonara!  They left to go south to better weather!

You see, taste buds are a wonderful pearl I have taken for granted.  From out of nowhere, I have had a profound realization.  An ah-ha moment.  Something as gross as the bumps on my tongue are as valuable as a mouth full of gems!

Please, let me know if you find my taste buds.   They are in BIG trouble!

Photo by Daniel Sandoval on Unsplash

It was only a matter of time, right?  It was inevitable.  Bound to happen.  All sewn up. Open and shut.  Met my Waterloo.  Yes.  I caught the flu.

I made it all the way to March 9th.  I washed my hands at every sink.  Stopped at the sanitize dispenser every time I passed.  Clorox wiped every shopping cart.  Rested. Exercised.  Stayed hydrated.  Ate well.

But, no.  That little bugger (literally) found me.  Laughed at me and my OCD behavior as it rode my nostril passages like a slide at the water park.  And now I am down.

What does the Pearl Chaser do when she has been cut off at the knees?  Think hard.  It will come to you.  Yep!  I have been watching TLC’s Say Yes to the Dress all day.  But, I am sad.  I am bored.  I am being avoided like the plague (again, literally) by my own family.  An outcast.

But I want to thank you, my dear reader.  My blog gave me a reprieve.  I felt wanted, and I had something to do for an hour.  I am down but not out! I shall return. I will win this war.

Today’s pearl – chicken soup.  It is a classic.  And this is all I got.

 

Photo by Cris Saur on Unsplash

“Firsts” can be exhilarating!  The first date, the first handhold, the first kiss.  Just the thought ignites my butterflies.  I read somewhere (fake news?) that the glue that keeps a couple together are the memories of all the firsts.  In addition, that heart-pounding feeling of euphoria at the beginning of a relationship is nature’s way of tricking us into long-term relationships and reproducing.  DAMN!  I fell for that trap – hook, line, and sinker.  And when the relationship blues come?  It is the recollection of those romantic firsts that fuel a reconciliation.  Mother Nature is pretty manipulative!

But this “first” for me stinks!  First of all, my butterflies are being eaten by the jaws of panic.  And second, instead of embarking on a magical adventure conjured up by Mother Nature, I am being fooled by my own arrogance.  I am hearing that nasty voice in my head telling me I am a buffoon, a sucker, a stooge.

You see, my first is WRITER’S BLOCK!  Yep, I have no idea what I should write about next.  I guess I am a just flash in the pan.  A chump.  A nincompoop.  At least I am getting a chuckle about of all the ways to say FOOL!

The funniest one to me – dingbat!  That takes me all the way back to the 6:00pm re-runs of All in the Family – on weekdays in the good old 1980s.  Archie Bunker used that word regularly for his wife, Edith.  I never thought I would be an Edith.  But I picture her nodding her head, smiling, mouth open…then realization.  That’s me!  OH!  WAIT!  MEAT HEAD!  That’s even more me!  “Meat head – dead from the neck up.”

Funny, I am cheering myself up!  How can something so fun to do, writing my blog, come to an end?  I cannot let it.  Topics will come to my brain.  Shoots, I could write a whole post about Archie Bunker and how my dad was just like him.  And my mom was kind of Edithy – until she figured out she really had all the power in the house!

However, I am open to suggestions and accepting ideas!  Send me a pearl…or two!

And be honest. Which one of my “first” were you hoping I was writing about?  Thought so.  You dirty bugger!

I know my mind goes way too far.  I cannot help it.  I hope it is a sign of intelligence.  But, more likely, it is my warped humor.  Maybe I have a touch of hyperactivity that prevents me from stopping myself.  On the plus side, I get a great laugh while hoping the people around me find it funny, too.  Today was a close one.

This morning, I did not know the date.  I innocently asked the lovely older lady next to me if today was March 1st?  She replied that it was not.  It was, indeed, the 28th of February.  Great!  I gained a day!  I love when that happens!

Here is where I would like to stop and remind you that SHE continued the conversation.  I was willing to be content with her response and to continue on my way.

She then asked me, “Do you know how I know it is only the 28th, and not the 1st?”  OK.  I will bite but I refused to guess since I cannot win (another problem I have).

“How so?” I asked the sweet older lady who is probably going to tell me something weird.

“Tomorrow, March 1st, is my son’s birthday and my second son’s birthday is March 2nd!” she told me with pride.  Hmm.  Not weird, but interesting.  “AND,” she continued, “my third child was born in March, too!”

CLOSE THE DOOR!

Here is where my mind started racing.  How can this be?  The laws of probability have been broken!  (I did the math in my head – I told you I was intelligent.)  And here is where I just could not help myself – even if I wanted to.  “When is your anniversary?” I blurted out to this kind stranger, whom I have just met and I am now prying into her private life.

“In June,” she hesitantly told me as I believed her eyes are scanning the room for a quick exit – if need be.  Again, I did the math.  This time, not in my head, but loudly on my fingers.

“June, July, August, September”……finger nine…..”MARCH!!!!”

“You had anniversary babies!” I shouted.  Yes, little lady.  The jig is up!  You had SEX on your anniversary – regularly!  AND, now, everyone around us knows it, you petite harlot!!!  She blushed.

Then the regret set in.  I had to ask myself – are you proud of yourself, Jessica Fletcher?  You just outed a sweet, older lady who was just looking for small talk.  I had to take it all the way to the basement and imply she did the dirty deed with her dear husband.  I was then cringing, even said a quick “please, Lord” while waiting for a response.

“YES!  That is exactly it!!!!  And the first time we were in Hawaii!” she shouted back – even more loud than I!  She proudly owned it!  I love her!  I laughed.  She laughed.  I dodged a bullet.  I knew it.  I gave God a whispered “thank You” and the sweet lady and I parted ways.

Humor is always a pearl.  My advice, do not push it too far.  I think I will pull it back a little.  Just for a short time.  If my mind lets me!

My junior year at Indiana University, I was living in a quaint white house with my best college friends.  I loved my college years, that white house, and Bloomington.  I arrived for my fall semester two weeks early.  During that two week party binge, I contracted non-infectious hepatitis from contaminated food.  It blew up my liver to three times its normal size.  I was young and healthy, and I made it through just fine.  However, since then, drinking alcohol has become like navigating a minefield.

After many trials over many years, I discover that my liver can only tolerate vodka or a good red wine.  If I drink anything else, I regret it with a bad stomach ache.  But darn it, I want to get buzzed on the newest microbrew or few Vegas Bombs once in a while!  Kind of a bummer.

A couple years ago, I was invited to an outdoor Halloween costume party in a pole barn.  It was a blast!  One of my friends offered me a shot of Patron tequila.  I downed the shot while my husband looked on with his head shaking.  “Why are you doing this?” shouted his glare to me.  Fifteen minutes later, I did not feel anything!  So I had another shot.  And another.  I was feeling great!  No pain and total control of my faculties.  In fact, I am the life of the party out on the dance floor!  I had moves that rivaled Beyoncé!  I did not feel pain, I did not even think I was buzzed!  Another shot.  Another shot.  “I found my new drink – tequila!” I shouted to my friends.  They laughed!  I danced the night away.

Then I walked back to the car.  Holy moly – my head was spinning.  My stomach ached.  My mouth had trouble forming words.  My peaceful, fun, and in-control state of mind went bye-bye.  This was going to get UGLY.  And it did.  From both ends volcanos erupted.  I spent the night on the bathroom floor pleading to sweet Jesus for mercy.  I was bedridden for the whole next day.  For several days, my pores oozed tequila as a stinky reminder of my foolishness.

So, tequila was a pearl that lasted just a few hours.  Then it bit me hard!  I love the song Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off because it makes me feel like part of a club.  It is the “you do not control tequila – tequila controls you” club.  I’m a lifetime member.  Tequila will never hit my lips again.

For you, is tequila a pearl or not?

 

Photo by Dominik Vanyi on Unsplash

I admit, I can be impulsive. The idea to create this “pearl” blog came quickly and I jumped in with both feet.  Also, I am FIFTY.  Technology does not come naturally and I struggle to put this blog together.  But with ignorance comes opportunity, and I did not have time to be afraid.

Until two days later…..fear launched an attack!  When I told my youngest son I started a blog, his response was “EW!”  Typical teenager.  I laughed at  first, and then it made me feel vulnerable.  My words and ideas will be judged.  Whoa.

But do you see that clever photo above?  That lovely box of pearls?  I downloaded it ALL BY MYSELF!  I am learning a new skill.  I am sharing a part of myself.  I want to learn more.  And being fifty?  I wear that like armor to battle fear.  It protects my heart from being hurt by judgement.  I am too wise by now to care about what everybody thinks.

Put on your armor.

 

Photo by Cornelia Ng on Unsplash

 

It is a cold and blustery January evening.  I am watching “Say Yes to the Dress” for the umpteenth time.  And then it hits me.  I must do more!  I have all these fun things in my head that I want to share!  I am a decent writer.  I know I can be even better if I practiced.  I start a blog.  Yay me!  Watch out, world!