If the stick turns pink the challenge is accepted!

One of my dear college friends, let's call her Amelia, would often call me after we were first married, with a singular question:  If the stick turns pink, does that mean I'm pregnant?

Somebody peed on that.

Over the years since we were young mothers (like a thousand years ago) Amelia and I have laughed about this.  Home pregnancy tests were then, and still are now, somewhat odd both in practice and in information.  Pink line. Blue line. Plus sign. Two lines versus one line.  Growing up in a culture where we simply did not DID NOT discuss bodily fluids, the very idea that we had to pee on something to give us information was horrifying.

I'm getting off track.

I'm reminded of the whole "stick turning pink" conversation because a number of weeks ago, my fair city sent road crews out to mark various spots where they were going to destroy and rebuild portions of the road.  Our block has been spared, although the intersections at either end of the block have been in various states of construction since early July.

But then one day we noticed...this.  This stick with a pink ribbon jammed into the grass right in front of our house.  There are no other pink sticks on our block.  In fact, we had to walk several blocks in either direction to find other sticks and those had blue ribbons and were often clumped in groups of six.

But no...we have one single pink stick in front of our house.  

And what a is a "Proposed HH?"

Hubby and I have spent some time wondering about this. We've asked around. One neighbor suggest we're getting a fire hydrant.  That would make sense except I would personally abbreviate hydrant as HY, but I'm not in city government or road construction.  I sort of hope it's NOT a hydrant because that would mean we could NEVER park in front of our own house which would be a major problem for us.  (Four cars, and a garage that can't house any of them...)

One neighbor believes they're going to put a helicopter helipad on our property. Now, while this might sound "JJ Abrams out there" it's not as nuts as one might think. See, our local hospital, which is about four blocks behind our house, has been quietly buying up local homes for years.  (Well, either that or houses are just vanishing and being replaced by grass...which brings me back to JJ Abrams.)  While there are at least three layers of homes for the hospital to gobble up before it gets to ours, why WOULDN'T they want a helipad...four blocks from the ER?

I should note that Hubby and I have also walked quite a bit in our surrounding blocks and as I mentioned we see quite a few blue sticks, but not that many pink sticks and the very, very few we've found, they have NOT had the same instructions written on them. We've seen "hydrant" abbreviated on blue sticks as "hyd."  So that ends that speculation.

I've decided it's one of two things:  Either the city is giving houses in our area some sort of weird pregnancy test (and our stick is pink) OR...and I rather like this idea...the city is challenging me to a game.  I don't know the rules, and I sure don't know what I'll get if I win...but I know this much:

I really, really, really want to start moving all those sticks around.

I was actually picturing the computer from that Matthew
Broderick movie, but this works, too.

Come on! I wake up one morning and there's a random stick in my yard and I'm not supposed to take it as a challenge?  Like the city is a giant computer saying, "Do you want to play a game?"

Nope, that's not me.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

I may just start tomorrow night. You know...in the dark...  Maybe I move my "Proposed HH" across the street to my neighbor who thought it was a hydrant. 

He's a former cop. I might not want to do that.

Still...

I would explain basic anatomy to you, gentlemen, but we're in church.

Good afternoon everyone!

I know...it's Monday. What am I doing blogging?

Well, I'm sort of avoiding actual writing.  I'm stuck on my 4th and final Nora Hill novel. Not stuck so much as I don't want to do what I have to do to move the story along.  When you read it, you'll understand.

Anyway, yesterday I went to church at my home church, which I haven't done much this summer because we've been out of town (don't tell anyone! LOL).  So of course after services there was a certain amount of catching up we (and by we I mean Hubby who is far more social than I am) needed to do.

After several minutes of chit chat with friends I caught up to Hubby who was talking about cars with two gents who happen to be brothers. Let's call them Joe and Marvin.  They know who they are.

So Hubby, Joe, and Marvin are standing in sort of a circle and talking and it's quite clear to me, and to Hubby, that Joe and Marvin, being brothers, have certain similarities in their manners.  Case in point, the two of them cross their arms the same way when they are talking.

Like this but with more chins.

Now, I don't cross my arms often for three reasons:  1) as a fluffy girl, it's not all the comfortable crossing my arms over my upper body because, well, my arms didn't get longer as I got wider, so it's not a comfortable reach. 2) if I cross my arms under my upper body (read here, in the wedge between my girls and my gut) I look like I'm resting my arms on a pregnant belly.  Not a good look.  3) When
I cross my arms ever, my upper arms widen out and I look like an East German swimmer from the 70's.  REALLY not a good look.

So I generally stand with my arms at my side or I move them around if I happen to be talking.

So we're standing in a small circle, the brothers, Hubby, and I.  Hubby points out that the brothers cross their arms the same way.  He tries to imitate them, which he does well. I focus on how they position their hands when they cross their arms. 

I should take a moment note that "catching up" for men and women is really different. Whereas I was checking in on how the kids were, how's the job, how's every one's health, Hubby was discussing car repair and how people cross their arms.

One could point out that I, in turn, then took said conversation about the crossed arms and turned it into a blog, but one would have to be patient until I get to the point of the blog to understand why I'm writing about this at all.

So let's get to the point.

So anyway, I'm looking at how Joe and Marvin position their hands. And I attempt it, but, because of the reasons I mentioned before, I'm not able to copy them.

This is where it gets blog-able.

Jesus knows blog-able when He sees it.

Hubby looks at me, then looks at the brothers, then looks at me again. He says something to the effect of, "Well if you do this," whereupon he tries to push my arms into position the way Joe and Marvin have their arms. That would be pretty much across their chests.  

That so does not work for me.  Because, see...the aforementioned female stuff.  Which I point out by saying, "That does not work FOR ME."  I'd go into more detail, but we are in the HOUSE OF THE LORD.  (We were in the church entry way which still counts as God's House.  I checked.)

They got the point.  Of course they did.  But that didn't detract from the moment when three men over the height of six feet stared downward at my...upper Victoria's Secret area. IN CHURCH.  (I mean, that's really the type of behavior you save for the church balcony!)

That's when I turned and walked away. Hubby said, "Well, on that note," which is sort of our funny way of leaving an awkward conversation, he followed me.  I gave him three steps before I said, "That's blog-able."

We saw Joe later, and Hubby warned him about the blog.  Joe protested asking what he could have POSSIBLY DONE to deserve being put in the blog.

Don't worry, Marvin and Joe's wives will explain it to them. If not, someone at church will.  I won't have to say one more word about it.

And that, my friends, is how blogs work.