Boys of the Beach

Today was a really, really, really, really, really long day at work with one huge project after another, most of them involving reading about horse and cow poop, with a smattering of cheese reading as well ... there's something inherently wrong with that, I think ... reading about horse and cow poop one minute and then cheese the next. Oh my ... I must be more tired than I realized to have not only typed that sentence but to acknowledge that in a few minutes it will appear on the Internet for the whole world to read. After such a mentally taxing day, I generally have a hard time turning off my brain and often find myself thinking about all the copy I read throughout the day. And tonight, I'm having an especially tough time slowing down my thought process because I had to bring work home with me that's due early in the day tomorrow, and I already had three jobs on my desk to do in the morning. I've found that on days like today, there's only one remedy to help me unwind ... a walk in the dark with Ollie the wiener dog while the music of The Beach Boys pulses through my headphones. I have no clue as to why, but that combination can always soothe me and calm my frazzled and stressed out nerves.

Ollie was especially frisky and prancy tonight, running all the way to the end of his leash and turning and glaring at me with his "So are you coming or not?" look on his little wiener dog face. Each time, I would assure him that I was indeed walking as fast as my tired legs would carry me, and he would wait for me to catch up and then bolt down the sidewalk again. We had walked for about 15 minutes when I said, "Let's turn around and head home, Ollie ... I'm just pooped tonight." He wasn't happy with me and immediately bolted into the grassy field next to the sidewalk, tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his mouth, begging me to play with him. As I stepped into the crunchy, dry grass, the song Dance, Dance, Dance began to play on my iPod. And that's when it happened ... that's when I had a momentary (OK, it was a little more than momentary) digression into sheer craziness.

Before I share what happened next, allow me to first say that I'm a lousy, lousy dancer. How lousy, you ask? Think of the worst dancer you've ever seen, and then put me in a category lower than that. Instead of chasing Ollie through the grass, I started dancing toward him ... and the closer I got to my little wiener dog, the harder his tail wagged as he began jumping toward me. I'm not sure how long I stood in the field dancing while Ollie ran around my feet, barking like a banshee. I am sure, however, that it was long enough that the drivers of the cars that were passing on the nearby street began to honk and wave. I'm also sure that I'm lucky none of them called the cops to report that a woman was dancing with a wiener dog in the field next to the high school. It's hot out tonight, and by the time I stopped dancing and bent over to lift my tired and panting hound into my arms, I was dripping wet with sweat. But ... but ... but ... I certainly was no longer thinking about work or editing or the stress that will surely accompany tomorrow.

I know my post last night was intense, and to all of you who have emailed or messaged me about it, I haven't read them all yet but I promise I will. I perused a few of them earlier, and as I expected, there were both negative and positive comments. So I thought you all deserved a post tonight that perhaps will make you smile ... come on ... seriously ... how can you not smile at the thought of a crazy old gray-haired woman dancing with a wiener dog while being serenaded by the sweet tunes of those Boys of the Beach? That's funny. Seriously, seriously funny.