I Should Own You, Target

I have about one bazillion updates for you — all exciting, of course — but must find time to sit down and download photos, etc.

In the meantime though, I’ll tell you about a fun little event that occurred at Target this weekend.

I went to Target on Sunday to return something and was in a hurry because I was trying to get to yoga in about half an hour. I was wearing these flip flops that I’ve had since college so ALL tread is gone from the bottoms of them. Also, right as I parked, it started pouring rain. You see where I’m going with this, right?

I ran in to Target, did my thing. No problem. As I was on my way out, I must have hit a puddle from someone’s umbrella or something, because 3…..2…..1 WIPEOUT. Holy moly. I did some version of the splits, except the tops of BOTH my feet hit the ground — the tops — and my right knee smacked pretty hard, too. I yelled something to the effect of “EEEEEE GAWD!” Just loud enough to get everyone within the front 1/3 of the store to turn and look in my direction.

One child pointed, laughed, then quickly slapped his hand over his mouth to prevent further embarrassment on my behalf. Too late, turd.

I executed this gymnastics feat directly in between two checkout lanes, and one of the clerks just turned and looked at me like, “are you freaking stupid? How did that happen.” Lady, I don’t know — but I guarantee you I couldn’t replicate it if I tried and neither could you. So, be impressed.

After brief, fleeting thoughts of “stay on the ground — roll around a lot and yell some more — ‘oh my neck! my back — it’s broken,’ — demand a $100 gift card for the emotional damage you’ve suffered,” I just stood up and got the hell out of there. Except I was afraid to run, or even quickly walk, after discovering my shoes are basically glorified ice skates, so I sort of hunched over to get a firm center of gravity and scooted all the way to the door. Also, not embarrassing.

I’m mostly fine — my pride was damaged the most — but yoga sure did hurt. I think I stretched more during my splits than in class.

Two days later, I have an awesome bruise on my knee and this sweet floor burn on the top of my right foot, which felt great running this morning. Not.


I still love you, Target. Just don’t pull that crap again.


Eggplant the Kitten

Yesterday I was headed to lunch at the Farmer’s Market here in Nashville to meet my friend Alice. I was walking down the sidewalk from where I parked, and noticed up in the distance this tiny thing bounding down the sidewalk. I thought it was a bunny — it was so tiny and bouncy. Then, it darted under a car. I hurried up to the car and knelt down to see what it was, and it was a tiny, adorable, heartbreakingly precious kitten. It mewed (smaller than a meow) and hopped up into the car’s engine parts. Oh hell no. I wasn’t about to let this little nugget get piston slapped.

I laid on the ground (in a skirt) and shimmied halfway under this car. Two people asked if I was ok. ‘YEP! I’m cool. It’s a KITTEN!” They just hurried away — probably going to find security.

I coaxed it partly down and then pulled the little booger into my arms — fully prepared for it to eat my hand off. (After all, I live with Callie Cat, so fury is all I know). But it just looked up at me and mewed. (I think it said “mama?”) Then it licked my nose. I about fainted from cuteness.


I called Alice to see where she was because she’s always wanted a kitten — and told her where to meet me. In the meantime, approximately 20 people walked by and told me “oh you’re done for now,” or similar. Yeah — I know. I also tried to give her away to several people, just in case Alice didn’t want her because I sure as heck wasn’t putting her back out on the cruel city streets.

I knew I couldn’t take her home though. Callie is an only child and just can’t be anything else. Let’s just say that if I brought the kitten home, she would be an only child again like five minutes later, because she would eat it for fourth meal.

Alice went in and got our lunch (after she too fell in love with kitten pants) and we had a picnic outside with the kitten. She played (the kitten, not Alice), ate some cheese off our pizza, part of an old chicken finger someone had dropped (and accidentally bit my finger — so I was pleased to find out last night that she didn’t have rabies), then she tuckered out and took a bath and a nap.




Alice took her back to her office, thinking she’d at least foster her for a few days and then decide what to do for her full time. But her Executive Director fell in love with her too, and took the kitten home to her four-year-old daughter who is going to give her a good home. She already got checked out at the vet last night and got a clean bill of health. Just a few earmites.

P.S. — Alice and I decided since we’d found her at the Farmer’s Market, we should name her something vegetable-like. So I blurted out Eggplant, and it was set. Little kitten Eggplant.

However, I found out last night that the four year old who Eggplant is living with has renamed her “Sally.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this, and think she’ll always be an Eggplant deep down.

I’m such a crazy cat lady.

Best lunch at the Farmer’s Market ever, right Alice? 🙂 Thanks for taking care of our kitten baby!