Ruh-Roh! Those Scooby-Doo Moments
The reason this is so late to be posted is embarrassing to admit, but…I thought today was Tuesday. *sigh* When I realized it was time for the Naked Truth, I didn’t have time to write about it. Usually, I blame menopause for this kind of brain-fart stuff, but this time around I’ll call it a schedule bumfuzzlement, thanks to the long holiday weekend.
That should totally be a thing: Schedule Bumfuzzlement.
So while I was busy not writing about the Naked Truth, a couple things happened.
First, you know when you’re in line behind other cars at a red light, the light turns green, and the idiot at the front of the pack doesn’t go right away because she’s daydreaming instead of paying attention? Yeah, so that happened earlier in the week. The idiot holding up traffic made the light. No one behind her did. The worst part about it? I’m the idiot. *gak!* In my defense, it was a long light, so I gave my thoughts over to my current WIP, imagined the hero’s reaction when the heroine tells him she’s—well, never mind that. Suffice it to say my mind was wrapped up in fictional characters falling in love in a fictional place, and the light, which is not so fictional, signaled GO while I was plotting. I had that Scooby-Doo ruh-roh moment and hit the gas. So sorry about the folks who suffered for my inattention. The worst part is that when it happens again and I’m in the group left behind, I’ll have zero standing to complain about the idiot who made it through the light while screwing everyone behind him. I’ll have to sit through the light a second time and keep my mouth shut. I hate when that happens.
The other thing has to do with our checkbook. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for donations. Not yet anyway. Ha. No, here’s the scoop: I was the Keeper of the Checkbook and Mistress of the Bill-Paying Domain for about 25 years, give or take. A few months ago, while I was whining, cursing, and gnashing my teeth, the hubster said, “Poor baby. Is there anything I can do to help you with that?” I salivated and my eyes glowed red…and he’s been the Keeper of the Checkbook and Master of the Bill-Paying Domain ever since. It is probably the last time he’ll offer to help me with anything ever again.
My man developed a slightly different routine than mine, I thought, because somehow I had the idea that he wanted the ATM receipts kept in a specific cubby. Being an obedient wife—yeah, just roll with it, Buttercup—I did the right thing and put all my receipts in that special hidey-hole. Until, that is, the other day when the hubster was paying bills, whining, cursing, and gnashing his teeth. Our checking account balance was off by a country mile, and he couldn’t figure out why there was so much unaccounted for. And there it was again. My Scooby-Doo moment.
“Ruh-roh,” I said. My cheeks heated up. Never a good sign.
“Ruh-roh? What do you mean, ruh-roh?” The hubster’s eyes widened and took on a wild sheen.
“Well, uh. . .it isn’t my fault. Menopause did it. Schedule Bumfuzzlement, even.”
The receipts I’d been stuffing in the cubby following his takeover as Keeper of the Checkbook and Master of the Bill-Paying Domain were to blame for the checking account balance kerfluffle. Mystery solved. And we had a whole lot less in our account than we thought we did. Ruh-roh.
So there it is, Buttercup. Today’s Naked Truth, a focus on my imperfections. *sigh* Please leave a comment and share your own Schedule Bumfuzzlement experiences and/or Scooby-Doo ruh-roh moment. Be a pal. Join my Bumfuzzlement tribe. 🙂
See you Friday for Observations from the Tub!