Playing Hooky

Last night I skipped my dog’s Manners class.  I paid for it back in August after two of my children said that the rescue dog could use some manners. I went to the first class, second class, and third class.

Yesterday I’d had it with my week thus far. Too many things were going wrong. Tuesday was especially sh***y.  The pension check from the ex had gone missing, as in, it didn’t come in the mail.

Trying to communicate with a hostile ex-husband is like volunteering for a root canal. It’s not fun.  The day before that my sister had asked me some tough questions about her future. I answered her as truthfully as I knew how. Being in charge of someone else’s adult life is not for the meek.  It sucks.

So when I got the text from a guy friend, “Come dance with me,” I thought, why the heck not?  It would be more fun than watching my little Jack Russell terrier hide under the chairs while the exuberant large puppies around her performed their tasks for treats. Yes, the class is mostly to train the humans, but still.  Daisy won’t do a down stay to save her life.

At first I texted back, “Doggie class, sorry.”

But then the whole day of hate texts from the ex changed my mind. If I didn’t go dance on Wednesday, it might be another week before I’d get another chance.

“I might play hooky from class,” I texted back.

Once I’d put it out there, I knew it was going to happen.

I asked my friend in town if she wanted to go. Two people in a car makes a carpool, and with the gridlocked traffic going north on 680, we’d get there faster. She had plans, so I decided to leave at 3:30 and hit the fabric store after I got through the worst part of the commute, the 680, highway 24 split.

By 4:15, I was buying thread at the Joann Fabric superstore. I tried to use the online coupon, but the company changed it so now I had to download the app onto my cell phone, and guess what? No space. I didn’t save the $2.50 or whatever it would’ve been, just paid for my stuff and then headed to the 99 cent store for paper cups.

My town doesn’t have a 99 cent store. It’s too snooty for that.  I found my Day of the Dead cups and headed to the check-out.  What a cross-section of humanity in a store like that. It’s good to get out of town every now and then to see the diversity of the Bay Area.

Now that I was in Concord, it was off to the new shopping center sponsoring the band to set up my chair and wait for it to start at 6:00.  I’d much rather sit around and kill some time chatting than to be bumper to bumper in a stressful 5 o’clock commute.

All the regulars showed up, including the flirty guy who texted me. He has a long-term girlfriend who doesn’t come with him since she doesn’t like to dance.   As usual, we only danced together a few songs as he made the rounds to all the women he knew, and I danced with a few of the guys I knew.

All in all, it was great therapy for an otherwise stressful week.  Today I have to go buy a locking mailbox. The postmaster of my town said he’d allow it if I put it right next to the trio of mailboxes in my yard by the curb.

Mail theft happens.  I’ve picked up stolen mail that has been dumped in the street, while walking the dogs. The thieves take the good stuff and dump the rest. Or maybe the mailman mis-delivered the check. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or maybe it got lost and will show up someday. At any rate, the ex stopped payment on that check and will send another next week when the funds get put back in his account.  Because he doesn’t have enough money to write a check today.

Yeah, right.

Whatever.

I don’t care anymore.

I got to go dancing.

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