Kay's Blog

Trying Times

My daughter, Kelly, is 15. Like a lot of moms and daughters, we fight about what type of clothes are appropriate to wear out in public. Unacceptable outfits get the following response:

"You're not wearing THAT, are you mom?"

I heard it last week as I headed out the door, on my way to meet a friend for dinner.  When Kelly saw what I was wearing, she grabbed my arm. "C’mon." She pulled me down the hall. "You've gotta have something better than that," she said as she stood in front of my closet.

"Mom, all your clothes are like, from the Eighties."

"No they're not," I argued. I pulled a shirt from the hanger and held it up. "This one's from the Seventies!"

If I'm stuck in the past, it's because choosing clothes at my age is hard. I'm a middle-aged "Tween" - too old to be young and too young to be old. Not sure what to wear, I rely on those tried and true styles of my youth. That's what I told Kelly as she rifled through my stuff.

"But mom...seriously, stirrup pants???  she asked. "Tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping."

Kelly took me to the mall, and headed toward American Eagle. She cruised through the store, scoping out the clothes racks. As I followed her, I saw clothes with names like Campus Hoodie. I felt out of place; my college days are a distant memory. The only campus I've been on recently is the Medical Campus where I got my mammogram.

"Kelly, I'm 48 years old. I can't wear something called a Campus Hoodie."

"But you can wear that?" she asked, pointing at me. "What's that called, an Assisted-Living Sweaty?"

Funny. I stood in the center of the store, and watched Kelly dart between the racks, emerging with an outfit consisting of a camisole, coordinating sweater and pants.

“Mom, this would look super-cute on you!"

Doubtful.

In the fitting room, I ran into trouble right away with the camisole. It had a built in “shelf-bra." Because of my exposure to gravity, let's just say the camisole's "shelf" was a little too high for my "books."

I strained and tugged; finally everything was in place. Barely. What would happen if I decided to move? I found out; my shelf-life quickly expired when I tried giving my reflection a friendly wave.

Argh.

For the second time, I loaded the shelf. Then, carefully, I pulled on the pants. I gave a firm tug. They seemed to be on, but the top only reached my hips.

""They're too low!" I called to Kelly.

"Mom, you can't keep wearing those dorky high-waisted pants!"

Maybe not, but these were giving me a hangover. And not the kind you get from drinking.

Next I tried the sweater.

"How’s the fit?"

I'm about to have one, I thought. This thing is sized for a Barbie Doll.

"I think this sweater was made by Stove Top," I said. "Because right now I'm not dressing, I'm stuffing."

"You should work out, mom."

"Trying on these clothes IS a workout!"

Kelly wasn't discouraged, and brought more clothes in more sizes. All that trying was wearing. Still, I had to agree that some of the outfits were kinda cute, and a definite improvement over my old, tired wardrobe. Maybe it's time, I thought. If 50 is the new 40, I'm still somewhat young. And if 150 pounds is the new 125, I'm even somewhat thin. Why not dress like the thin young person I am? I handed over my Visa card.

If you see me around, I hope you like my new look.

Just don't expect a friendly wave.

Valentine's Day

Sometime on Valentine's Day, I’ll receive a gigantic bouquet of roses from my husband, Steve. I know he’ll send me flowers on Valentine’s Day - he sends them every year. Why flowers? Obviously because he thinks I'm fat.

"Why don't you ever give me candy on Valentine's Day?" I asked him.

"You told me not to! You said you didn’t want candy around because you'd eat it all!"

"Since when do you listen to what I say??” I asked.  “Anyway, I've decided if I get candy this year, I'll only eat half the box."

"You mean, at a time," he said.

He knows me too well…I’m a sucker for anything sweet.

Pleasing a woman on Valentine’s Day can be tricky. Guys are stumped for ideas. That's why the airwaves are flooded with helpful ads like this one:

(Scene: two women having coffee in an espresso bar).

"Brian surprised you by proposing? The ring is perfect! How did he give it to you?"

“He hid it ..in the microwave! I almost COOKED it!”  (Giggle, giggle).

“I wish I could get one of those.”

“A ring?”

“No…a husband like Brian!”

This ad has more fake sweetness than a case of Diet Coke. Besides, giving jewelry is risky business, because taste in jewelry is very personal. I’m reminded of the sign outside the plastic surgeon's office: Let Us Help You Pick Your Nose. Not me. I want to pick my own nose and my own ring -- not to mention my own nose ring.

For any guy tempted to surprise someone with jewelry on Valentine’s Day, here’s my version of a jewelry commercial:

(Scene: a man and woman are eating dinner in an upscale restaurant. Soft music plays in the background as the woman opens a velvet box).

Woman (stunned):

"You got me a diamond ring? We've only been dating for two months...are you INSANE??"

Man (startled): "But...but...you said you wanted me to give you a ring!"

Woman: "You dweeb! I was asking you to call me!"

When you think about it, Steve is a pretty smart guy. He can’t go wrong with flowers. That’s why I’m guessing that on Valentines Day the doorbell will ring, and standing on the porch will be someone selling replacement windows. But later in the day I’ll hear a knock. I’ll open the door to find a huge bouquet of roses and a romantic card.

Even after twenty years of marriage, it will give me a thrill.

As I said, I’m a sucker for anything sweet.

A Heated Exchange

We just paid $4000 to have a new furnace installed. You may be wondering why we got a new furnace. I'm wondering, too.

Our old furnace seemed to work just fine. In fact, I had no idea anything was wrong with it, because it was providing the one and only thing I expect from a furnace: heat. Everything was just dandy until I made the mistake of getting it serviced.

I'd signed up for an "Annual Maintenance Agreement." This means the furnace company comes out every year instead of waiting until something breaks. Financially, it's a much better deal -- for the furnace company, anyway.

On the morning of the appointment, Chad, the "technician," worked on the furnace, banging around for awhile in the laundry room, possibly to prove he was actually doing something. Then he came to see me in my office down the hall.

"You have a problem," he said.

Duh, I thought, I have a lot of problems.

He continued, "You have a crack in your heat exchanger."

Oh. A new problem.

I followed Chad to the laundry room, where he told me that even though my furnace looked fine, sounded fine and even worked fine, it wasn't fine.

Yeah, right, I thought. Obviously the furnace isn't the only thing that's full of hot air.

He went on, "This happens with old furnaces because of the high temperatures.  The heat exchanger develops a crack, and it's dangerous.  Carbon Monoxide could be leaking right now and if gets worse, you could die."

That sounded like some sort of scare tactic, which made me...well...scared.  My mind started racing. I felt nervous. I imagined the heartbreaking newspaper headline: Family of Three Killed by Crack.

I looked at the furnace. "Where is the problem, exactly?" I asked.

"You can't see it from the outside. But trust me...you have a fairly large crack."

No kidding.

He reached into the furnace. "Yep, there it is...do you want to feel it for yourself?"

"Um, no thanks...I believe you."

And I did believe him -- as soon as I heard the same thing from two other furnace companies that I called for second opinions. Neither one argued with the fact that I had a large crack.

The bottom line? I have a new furnace. Like the old one, it seems to work just fine.