Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.
After taking my kids to their morning gym class, I planned on taking a little drive to scout out the location of an appointment I have tomorrow. I loaded the two toddlers up into my car and then had a horrible thought. “Did I remember to tell my husband to take the GPS out of his car and put it into mine?” I checked the center console. Nope. I was already running late, so going back into the house to print the directions wasn’t an option. And as I’ve mentioned before, I have a talent for getting lost. So I really needed the directions. Fortunately, I’m a resourceful problem solver – because that’s what it says on my resume, so it must be true.
During one of the free periods of gym, I approached one of the instructors, Mr. Lawrence.
“Hey Mr. Lawrence,” I said. “I have an unusual favor to ask of you.”
“What’s that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“My husband and I got last minute tickets to attend a seminar on the 7 virtues of the vagina and we need a babysitter. Can you help us out?”
Poor guy. His face flushed and he released a nervous laugh.
“I’m just kidding,” I said, smiling. “There’s no seminar. My husband walked out of the house with our GPS system and I have some place I need to be. If I gave you the address, could you please print me directions?”
“Absolutely!” he said with a great deal of relief.
Here’s the thing, Ellen, I’m not sure what disturbed him more – babysitting my kids or the fictional seminar I told him my husband and I were attending.
What do you think?