As the saying goes, the only two certain things in life are death and taxes. However, in my ripe old age and with my habitual nature, there are a few things I know about myself for certain as well.
You can count on me to be at work unless I am terribly sick or supporting my kiddo in one of her ventures. You can count on me to pray for you if you ask. You can count on me to have a car trunk full of emergency items because I am convinced I will have one.
You can count on me to side with the underdog and root for Missouri sports teams. You can count on me to probably have too much sweetener in my coffee or tea but to still need that caffeine badly enough to drink it. You can count on me to be dressed in layers because, like Goldilocks, I am either too hot or too cold and rarely just right.
You can count on me to have really great stocking stuffers due to my dollar aisle obsession and extra dessert on hand in case someone drops by unexpectedly. And you can count on me to cut a big slice of said dessert for you and practically force you to eat it, because dessert is love, right? From here, it pretty much goes downhill.
You can count on me to spill a drop of whatever I am eating or drinking on a clean, newly pressed white shirt. I am particularly good at just dribbling a little bit of coffee, leaving a spot in a very embarrassing place.
And it won’t be on a day I am staying at home with no meetings. My stained white shirt days are always special appointment days. You can also count on that shirt to carry the stain through the wash because I forgot to treat it, as well.
You can also count on me to remember what someone wore but not his or her name. I met a beautiful lady at a recent party, the guest of mutual friends. She wore a sort of golden chiffon flowy dress and had on a pair of high heels that looked like they were made of piano wire. She was so princess like, she took away even my grown up breath.
When the party hostess and I talked about the event, I mentioned her princess friend, but embarrassingly, could not come up with a name. Not a first letter, not a hint, not a trace of name recognition.
You can also count on me to remember all the lyrics to a 70’s song that has faded way into the recesses of everybody else’s mind. And I will be able to tell you that lyric in pressure situations, unlike the contestant in a recent game show challenge.
The subject was Melanie’s song Brand New Key. They played a snippet of the song and asked the contestant to finish the phrase. $3K was on the line, and she blew it, all while I was gleefully singing, “I think we should get together and try them on to see” and not pocketing a dime.
You can count on me to tell you a joke that I have told you before, since I only have a repertoire of three, two of which I can’t tell in mixed company.
Some of the things you can count on with me have to do with paperwork. I guarantee you I will arrive one document short of what I need to complete any licensing process. I can also guarantee you I will find the receipt I need the day after I return the item it accompanied. You can count on me to have about 20 uncorralled scraps of paper with important lists and notes on them, having a regular rodeo in the wild west of my giant purse, another thing you can count on me to carry.
You can count on me having 20/20 hindsight. My best party planning is done a day or two after I have hosted one. That’s when I will finally go through a magazine and see the perfect signature cocktail or appetizer recipe. And I will save said recipes somewhere (probably with the missing receipt), so that I can once again not use them at the next party.
I might be able to find the receipt or recipe if I was better organized, but you can also count on me to have started a massive organization project that will go unfinished. To date, I have tried using file folders, envelopes, baskets, and dividers for paperwork and haven’t had much success. I resisted the urge to buy clear plastic stacking bins, despite multiple Pinterest pins.
One of the latest additions to things to count on with this old gal is that my hearing doesn’t serve me the way it once did, and I don’t catch everything. For example, just this week, someone wished me a happy birthday.
I was surprised to hear it because my birthday is several months away, and this person didn’t know me. I replied by saying I was anxiously awaiting my special day and that I had already given my husband some clues about what I might like for a present.
“Wow! You guys exchange presents for Earth Day? Most people don’t even celebrate it! That is so cool!” Oh! EARTH Day!
Well, apparently you can also count on me to be too embarrassed when I mishear something like that to even make a correction.
Not that I have given tons of thought to my passing, but sometimes after a funeral, I wonder what they will say about me when the time comes. Will they line up with accolades? Detail one of my epic organizational projects finally completed (because that is likely what will finally do me in…)?
I would be happy if they said, “You could always count on her,” and just left it at that.