The following is a true story. In fact, it’s probably the most-true story I’ve told yet:
I’ve never been a fan of the Lord of the Rings trilogy(or ‘Outsourced’, or Nicholas Cage, or pizza pockets…but that’s besides the point). Gun to my head: I don’t think I have ever finished an entire movie. Usually I fall asleep, change the channel to something “with a little less elven romance” or temporarily die of boredom, temporarily
But not tonight. Tonight I bonded with Gollum…err was it Frodo? I don’t remember the names.
I experienced the overwhelming and overpowering evils of ‘the ring.’
Well, not necessarily ‘the ring’. This ring was different. There were no elven inscriptions warning that the ring was ‘a closer look at evil.’ There was no skinny little creepy midget men(now THAT’S Gollum, right? Or is it Frodo?) warning me to steer clear and save myself.
Nay, this ring was terrifically haughty and seemingly harmless.
You see, today I decided that supporting my school’s basketball team in their district play would be a good idea. I arrived promptly during the third quarter(I could’ve sworn it start at 7:30!) and spotted my short little blonde friend, Taylor.
We began to talk about life and love(or, in my case, the absolute lack of love), at extent, and then her hand caught my eye. Specifically, her finger, Specifically, her left pointer finger.
Wrapped around that finger was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. Like I said before, it was terrifically haughty; a big white crystal in the center with other little crystals surrounding(…that was a terrible description, but, you know), it even glistened in the flurouscent lights of the gym.
Instantly, I grabbed her hand, stole the ring, and shimmied it down the forbidden fourth finger on the left hand.
At first, I was fine. I was so consumed in ooh-ing and aww-ing over my faux-wedding ring that I had no idea what was going on around me or, better yet, inside of me.
After a few far-too long minutes of adoring my hand, I began to feel different.
And not just because I had violently inhaled two tacos and half of an Oreo blizzard two hours prior.
Nay, it was something far, far more serious.
It was ‘the force.’
Wait, wrong movie.
…well, it was something serious.
I began to break out in a slight cold sweat and my ovaries began to ache.
(baby fever? could it be?!)
I started feeling uncomfortable in my jeggings and tunic top and instantly wanted to don a pair of high-waisted ‘mom’ jeans(…or pajama jeans, for that matter) and a festive sweater with a brooch(or maybe a pin declaring that I was ‘world’s best mom’).
I began worrying about things like laundry and the effectiveness of off-brand baking powder.
And I had the sudden urge to start cycling.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my coat, power-walked out the door, and searched for my Camry-gone-mini-van.
When I arrived at my house-gone-home, ring-less, the evils of the ring were very much still in effect.
Within fifteen minutes, I was Mrs. Brady short of a crappy haircut and incestual(not a word, that’s okay) relationships manifesting between my imaginary six children.
Compelled by the powers of the ring, I decided that baking a nice bedtime snack for my brother-gone-son(gross!) would be of my best interest.
So, naturally, I logged on to allrecipes.com and researched a fun, new, inventive cookie recipe.
(banana chocolate chip cookies)
And, naturally, I made them.
They kinda completely sucked.
Mrs. Brady dream = crushed.
Being a mom= indefinitely post-poned(duh).
Oh, and I still hate LOTR.