So the whole way home today I was craving, and I mean craving, pickles and oranges. Bizarre, right? And no, I’m not, to my knowledge anyway, pregnant. NEway…
Thanks to our awesome friends who shared their tickets with us, this past weekend we went to the national golf tournament hosted by Tiger Woods. It was a beautiful day and a lovely golf course. We were so excited to see Tiger Woods in action and to greet him up close. As he walked right past us at the 10th hole, however, I promptly leaned over and threw up.
We're sitting right up against the roped off course watching him tee off. I'm chugging a red Gatorade because it is so darn hot outside, but I get overzealous and accidentally dump half the bottle down my throat. Trigger gag reflex. My husband, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I'm barfing Gatorade all over my new white pants, starts smacking my shoulder, telling me to pay attention because Tiger is about to walk right in front of us. I am distracted, however, by the current yakking and subsequent ruining of my pants that I’m not at all aware, nor do I particularly care, that Tiger stands within 5 feet of us. Yep.
Does this story surprise you or seem out of character for me? Sadly, it seems to be par for the course of my life (ha!)
I recounted this at work today, and my coworker Rebecca quickly sympathized, saying something along the lines of "I found myself in a similar situation a few years back. When I saw Tiger Woods in person, I had poo squished between my toes." How unfortunate. Cue the obvious questions on my part (Poo? Whose poo?).
Well, that about covers it.