So I haven't exactly shared the cou de gras that made my 28th birthday epic...legendary...and magnanimous. It had me squeeling at the UPS delivery guy like he was wearing a Chippendale uniform, and asking him, "OMG, what is this?!?!?!?"
"Uh, Ma'am, it looks to be a hammock."
"WHAAAAAAAT? EEEeeeekkkk...it's my birthday present!!"
"Uhhh (backtracking)...it could be anything!" Nice try, buddy.
The man I live with, call Mr. Wookie, am about to hit another year together as our anniversary is next week, has a sneaky way of recording conversations we have and filing them away as "Things to get her, she'll die and love me forever." Yup. Ever since moving into our new digs, I've yammered on and on about how the Sheriff had a hammock growing up. Each summer, we'd fight like siblings for the right to be in the middle. We'd have competitions about who could invert themselves on the rope hammock and stay attached. Like Cliffhanger, but an 8-year-old's version.
If we lost Dad, we knew where to find him. In his hammock.
I wanted that memory. Where if Mr. Wookie lost me...and my laptop lay silent...he knew where to find me.
While curing cancer and aiding people of the torment it takes on lives, there's nothing like basking in the California sun on a plush hammock that's concave arc faces away from the sun so you don't even need sunglasses. I lose myself in the moment. As I gaze up up towards the rugged California hills, I think we're pretty damn lucky. A year ago I was painfully accepting reality in this place. Now...I'm thanking my lucky stars we have 2 more years here. Years...that amount of time that sounds so far away...and is.
But before I could bask in the beauty that is one hell-of-a birthday present. I had to lug it around back. Now where's my Home Depot back brace and suspenders??
This is not my father's hammock. This is a hammock built on the foundation of the Nordic gods. A base that takes 2 people to move. And it hosts a quilted double hammock that can hold 450 pounds. So essentially it can hold me...Mr. Wookie...and Sweet Pea...except Drools McGee is not allowed on the hammock. Drool and peace do not co-exist. That bumper sticker belongs elsewhere.
So when my trusty parents made a long weekend trek down to Painfully Sunny, California, you'll never guess where my Dad went missing. "It's so warm here." Yes, Dad, yes it is. Now can I get you a refill on your gin and tonic? Because I think life's treating you a bit to unkind. You know, that fluffy perma-attached pillow that's behind your head and all.
But I agree - I just may be suicidal. I don't know how I'll ever live under these conditions. If you can see in the background, I live along a stretch of green grass that the Scottish would be proud to play. If you don't get that, then I'll spell it out for you. I live on a golf course. I know, right? Shoot me now. But hey, at least I'm not too stuck-up with my $12,000 engagement ring, team of illegal Mexican gardeners, and a Range Rover. Please. This bitch be flyin' tight with her Asian import car, freckles, and vodka dependency. Say what...[oh, and we live in the smallest house on the block - what up now?]
Oh and the only thing bad about this gift. No cup holders. So I have to hold onto my cocktail...ugh...take this gift back!
