Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Country as Cornbread

Back in Charlotte, my weekends were usually a whirlwind of shopping, lunches out, babysitting, walks through Myers Park, and nights out on the town. I rolled into school every Monday tired, happy, and full of (what I thought were) hilarious stories.

Then I moved to Small Town, USA.

Creepy van behind me? Check.

Here is what my Saturdays now consist of:

6:00 am: Wake up sans alarm. Roll over and attempt to go back to sleep.

6:05 am: Check the clock.

6:08 am: Check the clock.

6:11 am: Resign yourself to the fact that, due to your 5:00 am wake up calls Monday-Friday, sleeping in until 6:00 is doing alright.

6:15 - 8:00 am: Make vegan pancakes, clean up kitchen, straighten couch cushions, sweep floor, make grocery list for the week.

8:02 am: Realize that it's only 8:02 am and you have already accomplished a Saturday's worth of chores. Bang head against wall.

9:58 am: Have new friend pick you up to take you to the town auction, which, based on the excitement it seems to generate, will be quite the attraction.

11:00 am: Realize you are in a room full of feathered bangs, flannel shirts, and trucks being auctioned off for $600.

11:01 am: Question life choices.

1:17 pm: Take a stroll with your roommates through the town's Annual Peanut Festival, which doesn't seem to actually contain any peanuts (perhaps because of allergies?) but rather consists of a bouncy house and a lemonade stand.

1:21 pm: Question life choices. Weep silently to self.

5:01 pm: Cocktail hour. (Maybe life here isn't so bad?)

8:09 pm: Roommate says something about "wasting our youth" and talks you into walking downtown to the one and only restaurant/bar that's still open so that at least you can get out of the house.

8:21 pm: Man with a puppy in his arms walks by the restaurant window and shows you a sign that says "DO YOU WANT THIS PUPPY?" Decide you need more wine, but not a puppy.

8:44 pm: Get called hot by an attractive young local who then tells you he's "country as cornbread".

8:44 part 2: Sigh.

9:01 pm: Call it a night.

If this were a Nicholas Sparks novel, a young but sensitive fireman would be about to move into town and sweep me off my feet. I'll keep my fingers crossed...


Royar said...

If you come and visit me soon, we can write those Nicholas Sparks books! XO

Kristen Elizabeth said...


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