Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

I've just spent the majority of my day doing the thing I hate: being on hold.

I took a deep breath this morning and decided to tackle a bunch of stuff all today, because I hate it all.

There is an establishment (and most of you would know 'em if I named 'em), who has had a copy of one of my books since June 16. They were to review it and decide if they wanted to sell it, as they do some of my other books.

I've called eleven billion trillion times since then and most the time can't get anyone to talk to me, and when I do, they'll "check on it" and get right back to me.

Now this place is very, very successful. How, I have no idea. 

My mother's hearing aid ain't fitting, either. So I've been on the phone with them twice, argued over e-mail three times....and still don't have an answer.

I've made doctor appointments.

I've ordered some stuff, which went smoothly, though I hate to do it.

I've done laundry, and everything is running okay, there, too.

I've been on  hold with my credit card company  long enough to have a baby. I finally got help from them - not resolution, mind you - but some help with two mystery charges on our bill.

My question to you is this: Why are businesses less efficient than they used to be? Are we, the customer not valued anymore?

Okay, that was two questions. I've had a hard day. Give me a little slack.

Stand Tall!

Although I was a normal size baby, by first grade I had a head start on everyone.

And by that, I mean I was a head taller.

Exhibit A: Here I am eight years old. My Yankee cousin, the dark headed one to my left is five. Texas Cousin, the blonde is four and the baby I am holding, a second cousin is, um, a baby. None of these cousins ever caught up to me. We discussed this last summer, but there is no explanation. I am a freak.

Next, as we go to Exhibit B: You will see, that at age seven it is no better. And we ain't that old fashioned or in a cult, it's a Wagon Train thang. Ramona, to my far right is less than a year younger than me. Her sister, clad in the diaper, is always photographed in a diaper. I've seen another photo of the three of us, and she's near naked there, too. I don't know if she refused clothes, or what. That's not the point.

I was the tallest student in seventh grade. Not the tallest girl, mind  you, but the tallest student. I was even taller than one of my BFFs, who grew to six feet. But not in seventh grade. She was still a shrimp, I guess.

I remember my best friend in first grade was Trish. She came to my shoulder. This is a photo of Trish and me at our 45th (!) class reunion, a few months ago:

As you can see, some things never change.

The only question I have is this: How did I survive without a complex? I don't even remember thinking I was taller than everyone else. 

The only explanation is I have also always been very nearsighted.

Cold Enough Fer Ye?

I don't know about ya'll, but I feel like someone moved the South when I wasn't looking.

I've had on so many clothes, the inside of my arms haven't made contact with my body in days.

Hasn't seemed to help much, I'm still freezing to death.

Late yesterday evening, after five p.m. Daughter and I finished a meal at a local restaurant. And she couldn't find her keys. Well, she actually found them. Inside the car, where they were all locked up and safe.

Now, this restaurant was crowded and people were waiting to be seated, but we drug out sitting there as long as we possibly could. I called Brother of Many  Surgeries and ask that he call someone to HELP us, which he did. He even called back and said they'd be, and I quote, "a few minutes." 

We got up and stood at the door, a mighty cold place to stand. After twenty-five few  minutes, a feller showed up. We went outside, although he was already peering in the window of the car. He commenced to use all sorts of tools, and after standing outside just before six p. m. in waaaaay too cold air for twenty dang minutes, he got the door opened.

Like I said, I had on lots of layers. I managed to get my arms bent enough that I put my hands in my armpits, but I could barely breathe.

I guess you could say I have been froze and squoze. 

And not one flake of snow.