By third time the lights went out this morning I had worked myself into a lather at the gym. Really. I know that doesn't sound like me--the girl that doesn't like to sweat--but I actually own and use a gym membership--and the world has not come to an end. Yet.
Okay, so it was a shower lather--but it was after my early morning workout. I don't like mornings anyway, so when I have occasion to go to the gym, I go in the wee hours--that way, I'm at least not ruining a good part of the day.
To be honest, I was given fair warning about the lights--the first time they went out, I was down to my skivvies and getting ready to hop in the shower. When the lights went out, plunging me into total darkness, I thought longingly of the maglite in my car (the plastic casing for the jump ring that used to attach it to my key ring broke awhile back and I've not replaced it). No worries, I thought, I'll use my iPh---in mid-thought I realized it too was in my SUV. Charging.
Sitting in the dark, I considered my choices: redress in stinky workout clothes and drive home to shower, or wait to see if the lights came back on. As I explored my options, the lights came back on and remained on. A couple minutes sans-flicker was all it took to sucker me--I decided to chance it.
I shucked the skivvies, hopped into the shower, and lathered up my hair...and the lights flickered (I held my breath)...and went out for a second time. But, they flickered back on and steadied almost instantly.
It was at this point I finally thought about my safety. There hadn't been an alarm sounding, so fire had not crossed my mind. In fact, when the lights flickered off the very first time, I was a tad bit annoyed. I erroneously thought the girl in the bathroom stall had turned off the lights when she left. Only, she didn't leave until after the lights came came back on the first time.
Now that I was concerned with the possibility of fire, I wondered how I could gracefully exit the building wearing nothing but the mostly see-through shower curtain. I sniffed the water-logged air. Unable to detect smoke, I wondered if that was because of the actual lack of smoke, or the fact that my nose is stuffed up with Central Texas allergens. I decided there was no fire. For the time being I was safe.
Living life on the edge, I rinsed my hair...and applied conditioner...and, to tempt fate, I reached for the soap.
Sure enough the lights went out for the third and final time. The darkness was complete.
I've been on cavern tours where they have turned off the lights and you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. That's how dark it was in the shower this morning. I started to feel myself tense and I did what I normally do in tense situations.
I giggled--when I realized I could be a roadside attraction.
"Step right up folks! Don't see the lathered girl in the totally darkened shower! All for the low, low price of--"
Wait--that last line sounds more like a late night infomercial. But you catch my drift.
I rinsed off, groped for a towel...and then the real fun began: stuffing damp me into clothing--not an easy task. I repeatedly attempted to slide the wrong flip-flop on the wrong foot. When I finally donned the correct shoe on the correct foot I was exhausted. Gathering up up all my belongings in pitch blackness was made even more difficult with my faulty memory (did I leave my bra on the back of the chair, or did it drop to the floor?).
Finally, I was ready to leave. I began wall-walking the rooms (shower room, locker room, bathroom, and "prep" room--where the sinks are) until I finally made it to the locker room entrance.
I opened the locker room door into the long hallway and faced...
More darkness. Not quite complete. But pretty close--although now I could see a tiny little light...at the end of the tunnel...(hallway). Still wall-walking, I made it to the large weight room--also in darkness--illuminated only by the window on the front wall.
I passed a couple of diehards doing some leg work. I was thankful no one was attempting to lift weights in the darkness. That would be very unsafe. Most of the guys were milling around waiting for the lights to come back on.
Exiting the gym I saw the traffic light on the corner was flashing. By the time I reached the Interstate I decided a large transformer must have blown a fairly large power grid because the Police were at the loop directing traffic.
At home, I took stock of my appearance. My gym bag appeared to contain everything I had taken to the gym. My new "wash and wear" hairstyle was drying and I was pleased to note it wasn't frizzy. I wished the ends would curl under--but a quick touch if the curing iron would remedy that.
All-in-all, I thought I got away with groping in the dark fairly well. I left the gym wet-headed, but fully clothed...and with my dignity intact.
That was when I noticed my tunic was on backwards. Maybe I need to remember to add the maglite to my gym bag after all.
Welcome to the BOMB.
The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...
- My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”
Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)
- Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
- Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
- Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
- Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
- The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)