There are all kinds of new words and phrases that get "invented" each generation. Only a few years ago, I heard the term "babydaddy" for the first time. My mom used the phrase "true that" a few weeks ago. I nearly died laughing, but she used it correctly.
The one that I've fallen in love with lately is "hide your crazy". I love that it doesn't question if you are crazy or not - it just tells you to hide it. Love it!
So, the prompt for the week:
Use any "modern" phrase or word as your prompt.
If you're having trouble coming up with one, here's a small list:
I know, right?
True that.
Hide your crazy.
Babydaddy/mommy
Hang out
I think you get the picture.
*** If you want to use a phrase from an older generation, go for it! Have fun! Just let us know what phrase you're going off of in your comment. ***
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My response:
"Hide your crazy"
I stirred the browning hamburger in the pan, the rich smell of boiling past and tomato sauce drifting up from the stove. The kitchen was small, and I was tucked back into a corner. Between the table and the guy towering over me, I wouldn't be able to reach the door in a hurry. I was a little clostrophobic ... well, maybe more than a little. How many girls in my position would be anxious about their path to the door?
Dean stood next to me, measuring oregano, garlic, and basil into the sauce while watching the pasta. I ought to be grateful for him. The rest of the apartment teemed with his five roommates and their dates - none of whom I knew - and I was glad I didn't have to make small talk and hurt my cheeks with smiling. Dean was telling me about his graduate physics class and the optics project he'd been working on with his professor.
He was also blocking my escape route.
What if the stove caught on fire? What if there was an earthquake? What if Dean had a heart attack and fell down in my way?
I smiled up at him, asking another question. I could follow his explanation well enough as long as I could at least see the door. He launched into his answer enthusiastically.
One of his roommates drifted over to the kitchen area. With a friendly slap on Dean's shoulder, he whispered, "Dude, hide your crazy. She doesn't care."
Dean's jaw dropped and he objected, "She's in physics, too! She likes it!"
His roommate blocked my view of the door. My heart began to pound in my chest.
Hide your crazy. Good advice.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the hamburger.
Photobomb!
ReplyDeleteThe sun was hot. I squirmed in my seat and tried to think about something else other than the fact that I was wearing a long, black skirt and a dark purple blouse, that summer had arrived, and that I was sweating profusely.
My niece Gabby was about to walk down the aisle, or in this case, the narrow space between white folding chairs that created a “sort of” aisle for her outdoor June wedding. Suddenly, she appeared behind us and we all stood to watch as she inched forward in her white lace dress, holding on to her mother’s arm. Gabby was glowing, her cherubic face beautiful. My eyes didn’t simply fill with tears, the tears literally spurted out. I’m surprised the row in front of me didn’t look up at the sky, wondering if it had started to rain.
As the two women moved towards us, whispered words were exchanged between the bride and her mother. Though I couldn’t hear all that was said, Gabby finally hissed the words: “Shut up, Mom!” and I giggled, at last able to get control of my crazy emotions.
And the wedding proceeded, the bride was absolutely gorgeous, as was expected, the handsome groom stood tall and grinned a bit shyly, and Gabby’s sweet little twelve-month old baby, Lealand, squirmed and fussed as everyone ‘oohed and ahed’ over his tiny tux and diminutive bow tie. Vows were exchanged, the couple kissed, and we applauded.
And then it was time for the cameras to come out. Gabby’s cousin flitted here and there with her massive camera with the telephoto lens. She was the “official” photographer, but the rest of us, especially my sister and I, followed close behind, iPhone and digital cameras held at the ready, squeezing in behind her, hoping to get our own shots before the subjects moved.
I still struggled with the tears. Part of me was thinking how strange it felt to see that Gabby was all grown up. How had this happened? Only yesterday she was this sweet little toddler, with a mop of curly brown hair and wide blue eyes, piping up with her funny little squeaky voice, following me everywhere. Now she’s all grown up. And what does that make me? Old.
I looked around me for my own children. The oldest, already ten, is so tall and lanky she sometimes scares me, because she already looks so much like a teenager. And my youngest, my baby, will be starting kindergarten in the fall. I may as well just join the AARP this minute and head on down to the IHop at 4:30 for the Early Bird Special. Sniff!
Then, it happened. My oldest daughter came up to me and stuck her face right in mine; her forehead smashed up against my own, and stared into my face. (She does that sometimes. Don’t really know why). Thinking this was funny, my sister snapped a quick picture. Unknown to all of us, my eleven year-old niece, Maya, had come up behind Taylor and stood off to one side, staring at me and my daughter with a perplexed expression on her face, and her face appears in the picture, slightly below mine and my daughter’s smashed up faces. My sister thought this was hysterical. She put it on Facebook. The caption?
Photobomb!
I wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that I was still in my self-pitying, “I’ve grown so old” mode that all I could see in the picture was my wrinkled neck and my double chin.
Stupid photobomb. If you need me, I’ll be at the IHOP, ordering the senior special.
Haha! That's a good one. Something I'm sure people have been doing since cameras were invented, but we've only now come up with a name for it. :-)
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