26.2

I am exactly two weeks away from one of the most exciting days of my LIFE. It seems strange to be so excited to put my body through something as strenuous as a marathon, but I honestly could not be more pumped about our trip to Boston.

I have been training strictly for the Boston Marathon for a year now. I tried to qualify (like legit tried to qualify) six times and failed. Once I finally did run a good enough time, I didn’t get in. When I finally did get in, I also started a big kid job, which meant I had to wake up at 4 a.m. everyday to train. This may explain why I do not respond to text messages after 9.m. because I am already in bed asleep by that point. DO NOT TRY TO CONTACT ME AFTER 9 P.M. OR WE WILL NOT BE FRIENDS.

(I freakin' run through mud to train....)

Anyways, it has been quite the adventure. I have dragged Porter to a million races now, but all of that time and effort is about to pay off.  Porter has been the best cheerleader ever. He stands in the rain/snow/heat and follows me around the course to make sure I have everything I need. However, what most people don’t know is that Porter has completed a marathon too.

I get asked quite often if I run with Porter. Once upon a time I did, but I will NEVER EVER do it again. When we were first dating, he agreed to run the Utah Valley Marathon with me. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but it turned out to be one of the most miserable experiences of my running career.

Porter and I did one 20-mile training run together before the race. I prefer to train by myself, and I assumed Porter was doing the same thing. We woke up on race day, got to the buses, and we were hauled up to the start line.

Just before the race is about to begin, Porter informs me he has to go to the bathroom. It would be the first of many bathroom breaks he would take. People are lining up at the start line, so I know it is about to begin.

I hear the gun go off to signal the race has started. Porter was still in the porta potty. I wait for him, a little annoyed, but it was still ok since your chip time doesn’t start until you cross the start line anyways.

He finally gets out and we start our 26.2-mile journey. About two miles, he has to stop.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, a little worried that we are not going to finish this race.

“My iPod is stuck on repeat, I have listened to the same Ke$ha song like five times now.”

I don’t see why this is a problem. Nothing pumps me up more than a little Tik Tok action.

We carry on. At mile 8, I turn to him to see how he is doing.

“This isn’t that bad,” he tells me.

Oh my friend, we are not even half way…and that was the least of his problems. Remember how I told you we started the race off in the bathroom? Porter was about to spend a lot more time in there than we expected.

Having the squirts on the day of a race is probably my worst nightmare. Running 26.2 miles is already physically and mentally draining. Adding stomach problems to the list sounds unbearable.

I felt bad for the guy, but I was a little frustrated. I had desperately been trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon, and I had failed the two times I had tried that year. My body felt good, I knew I was in shape, but we were having to stop at literally every single porta potty.

That may not sound that bad, except for the fact that there was a porta potty every two miles.

When you are trying to run while fighting diarrhea, you have to squeeze and waddle. When you have to squeeze and waddle, your running form gets all bent out of shape. When your running form gets bent out of shape (and you are already a little lop-sided due to not having an arm), your entire body starts to ache in places you didn’t even know existed. When your body starts to ache in places you didn’t even know existed, you make it impossible for your running partner to qualify for Boston.

At every single aid station with a bathroom, we had to stop so Porter could relieve himself. I decided to stop feeling bad for myself and help him get through what had become a total disaster.

The Utah Valley Marathon finishes on University Ave. It is a long, straight road so you could see the finish line for dayssss before you even got close. It seemed like every step we took, the finish line got further away.

I was trying to be optimistic and encouraging. I started to tell Porter funny stories (because let’s be honest, I tell really funny stories), but he wasn’t having it.

“How about we just don’t talk!” he finally exclaimed.

Jerk face. I just sacrificed my marathon time because YOU decided to eat crappy food and then had to poop your guts out this whole time. I should have just left you.

I was a little mad, but I got over it pretty quickly. I didn’t have the energy to be mad and finish this last mile.

When I thought we were getting close to the finish line, I tried to be encouraging again. However, I was still unfamiliar with the Utah grid system and I had no idea what all the numbers on the road signs meant. I decided to guess-timate how much was left in the race.

“Porter, we are so close! Only 4 more blocks to go!” I said excitedly.

We were on 800 N. The race finishes on Center Street. I guess I could have done the math, but I was a Communications major in college…math isn’t my strong suit.

Porter looked up at the nearest road sign, and turned back to me slowly.  Through his gritted teeth he said, “8 Carlie…we still have 8 blocks to go.”

Whoops. There is a huge difference between 4 blocks and 8 blocks when you have run 26 miles.

We crossed the finish line together. I didn’t run a Boston qualifying time, but I didn’t kill my soon-to-be-husband either, so I will count that as a win.

And to be fair, Porter is rarely this ornery. He was in so much pain and had the runs, so I have forgiven him.

Porter and I will never run a race together again, but I’m pretty sure if you can handle finishing a marathon together, you can get through just about anything together.

I will update everyone on our Boston/NYC/Washington D.C. trip when we get back. There is bound to be a story or two from that experience. Oh, and you can also expect an Insta and FB overload. Don’t get annoyed by it, just like my pictures and move on ya grouches.

Until next time,

Carlie

My husband, the (almost) felon.

I had to refrain from writing this post, even though it is obviously the craziest story you are ever going to read. It involves the police, and jail, and all that good stuff so you are going to want to read the whole thing. Because trust me, when you think it can’t get worse, it does.

So one time, exactly a month ago, Porter and I went to a Utah Grizzlies hockey game up in West Valley City. I was pumped for it because I am and will always be a GRIZZLY.

Before the game started, we were looking for a parking spot. We saw all of these hardcore fans, decked out in Grizzly gear, parking in the Costa Vida parking lot, which literally connects to the Maverick Center parking lot. There weren’t any signs saying we couldn’t park there, and we figured all of these die-hards knew what was up, so we followed their lead. Wrong decision numero uno.

As we leave the game, we make our way to where our jeep was parked. No jeep. No cars at all in the parking lot. Just a tow truck at the back of the restaurant hooking up to another car.

We make our way to the two tow truck drivers.

Me: “Hey did you guys happen to tow a black jeep liberty?”

Tow truck driver #1: “Yeah, you are going to have to pick it up at our lot.”

Me: “Were we parked illegally, there isn’t a sign out here?”

Tow truck driver #2: “You aren’t allowed to park here during the game.”

Not my question, but whatever.

Porter: “Can you give us a ride to your lot? We don’t have any way to get there.”

Tow truck driver #1: “No, I don’t have insurance for that. You are going to have to call a cab.”

It’s 12 degrees outside. All I was wearing was a sweater because I wasn’t planning on spending the next 6.5 hours outside. We walked like a mile to a hotel. Porter had them call us a cab. We tried looking up where the lot was for this tow truck company. It didn’t even exist on the Internet (and we all know if it is not on the Internet, then it’s not real).

Porter called Costa Vida and got an address. He then called the police to report our vehicle “stolen” because there was NO sign telling us we couldn’t park there. The police said they would meet us at the lot to keep the peace, but there was nothing they could really do.

We take a cab to the middle-of-no-where sketchville. There are already two people there waiting for their cars. Here is the kicker…. our cars weren’t even at the lot. The tow truck drivers said they had taken our cars to another lot and would be bringing them to us INDIVIDUALLY (aka they could charge us for more miles of towing).

They bring the first gentleman’s car. The tow truck drivers tell us that the fee for the night was going to be $289.50…in CASH. No credit/debit cards accepted. What the whaaat? We are in the middle of nowhere, with no cash, and no way to get home. The kind gentleman who got his car first offered to drive me to an ATM so I could withdraw money.

Meanwhile, the police show up. A crowd starts to gather since the tow truck drivers ended up towing nearly two-dozen cars. Did I mention it took them 45 minutes to bring the first guy’s car?

I get back to the tow truck lot with the cash. We are waiting alongside several unhappy campers. It is now past midnight. I’m freezing.

One frustrated family decides they aren’t waiting any longer and follows the tow truck as they go to pick up the next person’s car. Porter makes polite small talk with the police and then asks out of curiosity:

Porter: “Are they allowed to take our cars to a different lot?”

Cop: “Yes, if it is a secure lot that they own.”

Porter: “What if it isn’t a secure lot?”

Cop: “If it is a public lot and is not protected or locked up, then you can go take your car.”

Bingo. Just then, the family that had followed the tow truck calls a girl still waiting in the lot with us.

Girl: “They found our cars! They are just sitting in a parking lot a couple of blocks from the stadium!”

The tow truck drivers had literally been taking our cars and dumping them in a pawnshop parking lot so they could tow as many as they possibly could (rather than take the time to tow our cars to their lot ten miles away). Everyone jumps in cars and takes off to the pawnshop. Porter gets in a car with some random guys. I had learned that we needed $289.50 in exact change, so the kind gentleman offered to take me to a gas station to break my last $20. I was not about to give these guys a penny more than what they demanded.

After I got the change, the kind man drove me over to where we thought our cars were. That is when all chaos broke out.

The tow truck drivers were trying to box everyone in the pawnshop parking lot with their massive truck while everyone jumped in their cars and tried to take off. I stay across the street with my new friend and watch Porter get in our jeep.

I see Porter start to make his way out of the parking lot when one of the tow truck drivers jumps in front of him. Porter stops the car. The driver is screaming at him and then slams his hands on the hood of our car. All of the sudden, this crazy lady comes out of nowhere and rams the guy out of the way. She then motions to Porter and tells him to drive while multiple cars follow behind.

I am still in the car with my “friend,” and he floors it so he can follow our jeep. Porter pulls into a gas station so I can get in the car with him. We are freaking out a little, but we got our car back, so we were happy.

It’s now 1 in the morning. I’m exhausted and so ready to go home. As we pull out of the gas station, a police officer starts to follow us. No lights, just following us. We try to get back on the freeway when we realize we are in a right-turn only lane and so we have to pull into the parking lot of a random hotel.

That’s when the cop’s lights go on. Porter stops and waits for the officer to come to the window. He asks Porter a couple of questions and then tells him to get out of the car. I stay sitting there, petrified. My phone is dead, so I have no one to call. I haven’t taken my asthma medicine and I can feel my chest start to tighten up. I try to keep myself calm.

I glance in the rear-view window to see them questioning Porter.

Cop: “What are you hiding in there?”

Porter: “What are you talking about?”

Cop: “What are you hiding in your sweatshirt? Take your arm out of there!”

Porter: “I don’t have one.”

That’s right jerk-face cop, not everyone has two arms. I mean for crying out loud, his sweatshirt is SEWN SHUT, there isn’t even a sleeve…

I start to feel pains in my stomach…I realize I have been waiting to pee for like three hours. An officer finally comes up to me.

Me: “Excuse me, have we done something wrong?”

Cop: “You haven’t, but your husband has.”

Me: “What has he done?”

Cop: “I can’t tell you.”

Me: “Well, I really need to use the restroom, is there any way I can go inside of the hotel?”

Cop: “One minute.”

Fifteen minutes later, he comes back and escorts me to the restroom like I’m some sort of convicted felon. When I come out of the bathroom, there are three officers waiting for me in the lobby.

Me (trying to stay calm): “Is everything ok? Where is Porter?”

Cop: “He is getting booked.”

Booked? What does that even mean? Like jail? For what? I’m so confused, but also so relieved because I seriously had held my bladder like a champ for so long.

Me: “Booked? What did he do?”

Cop: “He is being charged with aggravated assault.”

Assault? Does he realize Porter is literally the kindest human being on the face of the planet?

They ask me for my statement. I give it to them. I explain to them that the other police officers told us it was ok to go get our car.

Cop: “If that police officer told you it was ok to kill someone, would you do it?”

*No you idiot. I’m not stupid. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have not had too many run-ins with the law, so I don’t know the system.*

I sit in the hotel lobby, alone, trying to keep my asthma under control all while three police officers watch me like a hawk. They won’t answer any of my questions, but they kept telling me I wasn’t in trouble.

Me: “Then why can’t I leave? My jeep is outside.”

Cop: “Well where would you go?”

*Gee, I don’t know. You’re right; I should probably just keep sitting here for no reason. *

After over an hour, I see another police officer drive up. He walks into the hotel.

New cop: “Are you Carlie McKeon?”

Me: “Yes, where is Porter?”

New cop: “He is in the car, just filling out a statement. You are his wife right?”

Me: “Yes.”

New cop: “Well how come you don’t have the same last name?”

*Oh trust me I have tried. But I found that working with government agencies, like the one you work for, aren’t exactly efficient so it has taken me a little while. *

Me: “Why did you book him? What is going on?”

New cop: “Oh, we didn’t book him.”

What the what? At this point, I now understand why the West Valley City Police is the laughing stock of the state.

New cop: “The tow truck drivers were claiming Porter hit them with the jeep.”

Me: “Well he didn’t. I saw the whole thing. Is the tow truck driver hurt in any way?”

New cop: “No. There isn’t even a mark on his body. As of right now, I don’t have enough evidence to charge Porter. I’m going to turn it over to the attorneys and let them handle it. If there is a case, you will hear from them in 3 weeks.”

Me: “And if there isn’t a case?”

New cop: “If 3 weeks comes and goes and you do not get a letter, then no case is filed and this will all go away.”

I see Porter get out of the cop car. I run to him. This whole time I had just pictured him sitting alongside big, tough criminals in a jail cell.

Porter: “Did they not tell you where I was? I told them to let you know.”

Me: “No! Where did you go?”

Porter: “They took me to the tow truck drivers to work it out. The cops tried getting me to lie by telling me that you had said one thing, even though it wasn’t true. They tried saying that you had told them you were in the car with me and stuff.”

Those dirty dogs.

At about 2:30 a.m. we finally got to leave. By the time we got home, we were so freaked out we couldn’t sleep. I literally just sat in bed.

Four weeks have gone by and we didn’t receive a letter. We even looked it up to see if a case had been submitted, and nothing came of it. We literally had to endure the longest night ever for nothing.

At least we have a good story to share with our future children. If nothing else, we learned a valuable lesson in being honest. Porter and I told the truth, and stuck to it when the cops tried to get us to say otherwise, which helped us in the end.

It turns out the tow truck drivers changed their story 3 different times. First it was Porter hit him with his car. Second time he said the side mirror on our car hit him. Third time he said Porter charged him in our jeep and he had to jump out of the way to keep from getting run over.

The tow truck driver then made a critical mistake. He told the police that as Porter drove away, he rolled down the window and flipped him off. Time out: Porter doesn’t roll like that. Also, he has one arm. How was he supposed to drive, roll down a window, and flip you off with one hand? That would take serious talent.

Almost every single person got away that night with their cars. Instead of making like $6,000, the tow truck drivers walked away with $289.50 that they made off the first gentleman. The best part is, the tow truck drivers were in such a hurry to tow as many cars as they could, they failed to take any vehicle information so they can’t go after anybody.

The next morning, both Porter and I called our mothers to tell them what had happened.

My mom’s response: “Wow, that’s crazy. Don’t worry about it, nothing will come of it.”

Porter’s mom’s response: *busts up laughing* (I seriously love that woman so much)

Porter didn’t end up having to go to jail. I didn’t hyperventilate and die. All is well in the world again.

The end.

Relief Society Misfit

Porter and I recently moved up to Orem. By recently, I mean in November. Our new ward is cool, but there is one down side to it…I have to be in Relief Society. Like real Relief Society.

Let’s be honest, BYU student ward Relief Society doesn’t count. It’s just Young Women’s Plus. When Porter and I got married and were in our first ward, I was put in YW, which is obviously where I (and my maturity level) belong.

I came home on Sunday feeling a little bit down on the whole thing because I realized two things:

1.     I’m the youngest person there by like 25 years…easy.

2.     I’m a terrible traditional Mormon.

In my conversations with my newfound sisters, I have found I don’t quite fit the mold. But then again, I prefer being a trend setter.

In conclusion, I have learned that it is going to take me a while to fit in. Here are 10 reasons why:

When I admit I don’t have a year supply…or a week supply:

When I say I have never learned how to sew because I have a really awesome Grandma who does it all for me:

When I pass on signing up for ward choir because I have a man voice and can’t play an instrument:

When I say I don’t have kids yet because I’m enjoying my career for now (and I'm only 22):

When I don’t sign up for the quilting group:

When I share a list of my favorite things to do and DIY crafts don’t make the cut:

When I sincerely plead for a BYU basketball overtime win in the opening prayer:

When I fail to suppress the noises my stomach makes on fast Sunday:

When I say I can’t come to “recipe exchange night” because I would rather play in my intramural soccer game:

When I tell them I’m from California:

And I'm all like:

Sibling Rivalry

I have been slacking, which I knew would happen, because it was CHRISTMAS (obviously the best time of the year). I decided to try something a little bit different over vacation as well. Instead of picking on the strangers we encountered, I decided to focus my attention on the intricate details found in a relationship between a brother and sister-in-law.

I don’t think most in-law relationships are like the one I’m about to tell you about. In fact, I know for sure they aren’t, because no one else has a Rylee Bean in their family. Fortunately for me, I do.

This is my sister, Rylee. She has been the sassiest, spunkiest, most entertaining human being since birth. When she started school, she would come home at the end of the day and tell us EVERYTHING that went down in the classroom. She could tell you who said what to who, how they said it, and what they were wearing when they said it. Pure talent, I tell ya.

Anyways, Rylee and I are pretty different, which is why I think we have been the best of friends since forever. There is nothing quite like a bond between sisters, am I right?

Well, this bond was a little bit threatened when Porter came into the picture. Rylee was skeptical of him and was definitely not a fan of losing her sister to some boy. From the moment Rylee and Porter met, a beautiful love-hate relationship was formed.

Rylee would call him out on everything and Porter would reciprocate with equally impressive comebacks. My mom has threatened Rylee on countless occasions to “be nice,” but I prefer what the two of them have going on over a cordial friendship.

For example, literally the first time they met, the bickering began. They were taking shots at each other when finally Rylee burst.

Rylee: “Well, at least I have BOTH of my arms!”

Porter: “I may have one arm, but at least I don’t have a crooked nose!”

*To be fair, Rylee’s slightly slanted nose was surgically corrected last week, so we will no longer be able to hold that against her.

Over the ten days the two of them spent together over Christmas, I documented their exchanges. For those of you who have not been around the two of them when they are together, these exchanges may seem harsh, but really, there is love behind each hateful comment.

Porter was making fun of Rylee for being small and called her "bite sized" in reference to the tiny versions of candy bars.

Porter: "Rylee you are like those small candy bars. Since you are bite sized, you would be on sale."

Rylee: "I would be on sale because I'm bite sized? Well then you would be half off!"

Rylee (examining Porter’s armpit): “Why is your armpit weird like that?”

Porter: “Why is your face weird like that?”

Rylee: “No, seriously.”

Porter: “Like what?”

Rylee: “It’s like…so…goopy.” (Side note: Porter’s armpit has now officially been nicknamed “goopy” at our house.)

Rylee then proceeds to poke the “goopy.”

Rylee: “Ew. I hate it.”

Rylee and Porter engaged in an intense game of Wii bowling. Finally, once the two of them finished and sat down, Rylee decided to look on the bright side.

Rylee: “I like how you don’t have an arm right here so there is more room for me to sit.”

We went snowshoeing. It is surprisingly difficult. I guess it was so hard for Ry that she couldn't even carry her own water bottle.

Rylee: "FINALLY there is a good use for you not having an arm...the extra material in your coat can carry my water bottle."

Nothin' like a little in-law love.

Until next time,

Carlie

Festival of Trees: Results Edition

Thanks to our kind friends and family members, we were able to donate this beautiful sports themed tree at the Festival of Trees this year. 

We had so much fun putting this all together. Seriously, it was a blast. We were able to meet some of the most selfless people in the process, and I will honestly never forget some of the stories I heard while we were there decorating. 

Right when we got to the Expo Center, my grandma and I were waiting for my mom and Grandpa to park the cars so we could begin decorating. There was a woman across from us who literally had over 100 China dolls arranged around her tree. She also had a beautiful wedding dress displayed in the background. 

Since we were just getting started, she came over and asked me what our theme was and why we were donating. I told her what we were doing and she threw her arms around me. I then asked her what the story behind her tree was.

She proceeded to tell me that the dolls she had there were ones she had collected since she was a little girl. She told me that her daughter loved those dolls. She also explained that the wedding dress next to the tree was the one she wore on her wedding day.

"You are donating your wedding dress?" I asked.

"Well, I don't have much use for the dolls or the dress anymore. My daughter passed away and she was the reason I kept it all. She was supposed to wear my dress when she got married, but that day will never come," she replied.

Devastating. I can't imagine losing someone (especially a child) that I cared for so much and then turning around and doing service for others.  

There was another woman who had lost her son just two months prior there decorating a tree. Just down the aisle from us was a mom donating in honor of her daughter who had tragically been hit by a car at a birthday party. Several more trees were decorated in honor of fathers and mothers who had passed away, leaving children and spouses behind.

It was overwhelming seeing people who had experienced such great loss give back to those in need. I know there are a lot of bad things happening in the world, but for one day I got to see an outpouring of love and kindness...and it was beautiful.

Faith in humanity=restored.

Here is our how our tree decorating process went down: 

We started out with a 9 foot beast of a tree. We had to reinforce the inside of it with rebar and PVC pipe. Good thing Mom is tall, because my 5'5'' stature wasn't going to cut it.

Mom is an excellent tree fluffer.

My Aunt Kim has mad ribbon decorating skills. She made our tree look like we had hired a professional.

Here is my hero, Grandpa Gale. He had only been home from his mission for two weeks and was out building a basketball standard for me. Love that man.

Paige sat in her stroller and didn't make a fuss the whole time. Best. Baby. Ever.

Porter ran the errands for us/did the grunt work no one wanted to do.

It all started to come together when we realized we needed more stuff...shopping break!

The decorating dream team in front of the finished product.

Shout out to my mom for spending her entire birthday helping us with this!

Included in our display: a 9 foot decorated tree complete with sports themed ornaments, a basketball standard, score keeper (with accurate blue/red score displayed), a couple of basketballs, a BYU lawn chair/blanket/football set, two footballs, baseballs, softballs, a baseball glove, a catcher's mitt, baseball bats, batting helmet and gloves, cones, office putting green, a golf club, rugby ball, volleyball, artificial turf (don't know why anyone would want it, but still), a soccer goal, soccer ball, baseball tee and bases, and of course, a Cougar pillow pet.

Oh, and the best part is...OUR TREE SOLD. Again, we are sincerely grateful for everyone's help. Another big shout out to all of those who donated:

Darryl and Kim Larson Family

Courtney Bassett

Scott and Mickelle

Trudy and Lon

Bobbie Morrill

Lance and Karin

Lance Ellett

Bryce Forbush

Mike Walker Family

Boxall Family

James, Priscilla, and Marshall Gale

Coleman Green

Michael Millward

Bonnie Shill

Doug and Bev Drury

Brent and Pat Griffin

John and Sally Wible

Grant Haldaway

Mark and Christie Oldroyd

Tim and Jan Blackburn

Randy Klabacka

Barbara Nielsen

Brian and Sheyda Golladay

Rose Family

Danielle Sozio Carrino

Landon Taylor

Ally Davis

Craig and Jackie Dearden

Melinda Chappell Sharma

Alex Lysenko

Kosorock Family

Dalby Family

Ellett and McKeon Families

and all of the anonymous donors who also contributed.

It turns out some pretty important people (Jenna Morrison) liked our tree, so we landed a spot on Channel 2 news. Click here to see it, we start at about the 8:10 minute mark. 

Thank you all and have a Merry Christmas!

With love,

The Ellett's

P.S. - there will be a funny post again next week. We had an interesting experience when Porter tried to get a flu shot. Stay tuned...

A Dreadful Question

I made the biggest mistake today. I asked THE question I vowed I would never ask. No, not the, “when is the baby due?” question, I’m not that dumb. Let me explain.

I remember when I was asked for the first time. Porter and I had only been married like five seconds and we ran into someone I hadn't seen in a while.

Friend: “Hey, how was the big day?”

Me: “The best, thanks for asking.”

(But seriously, it was the best. The dance party was off the hook.)

Friend (right in front of Porter): “Soooo, how is married life?”

What kind of stupid question is that? Porter is standing right there, what am I going to say?

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is the worst thing ever. I wish every second of my life that I was single again.”

I mean really. DUMBEST QUESTION EVER. Don’t ask me it because I will no doubt give you an exaggerated answer like I have stated above (jokingly, of course).

However, I made the mistake of asking it today. It makes me sad to realize I have succumb to asking stupid questions (because there is such a thing). I know there are people whom I have never met that read this blog (queue crazy lady who writes me incredible hate mail), so let me just give you a glimpse into what my life is like.

I’m seriously so awkward when it’s silent. I panic and I hate when conversations fall into a rut, because I try to save them and it doesn’t go well.

Anyways, I stopped by Wal-Mart during my lunch break to check out their Duck Dynasty swag. (Side note: Seriously, if you aren’t watching Duck Dynasty, you are missing out on the best show on television. Even better than New Girl. Boom, I said it.)

I was just looking around because I have a younger brother who is obsessed with all things redneck. I feel bad for him because literally no one in my family is particularly passionate about hunting, fishing, etc. and poor Kirk is in love with it. His dream is to grow up, buy the state of Montana (what?), and live in the middle of nowhere so people won’t bother him. Strangest life goal, I know.

Anyways, I was walking around when I bumped into an old friend/acquaintance (I use the “/” because I totally forgot her name and I feel like you can’t call someone your “friend” if you don’t at least know their name.)

She was there with her husband, which I knew was her husband, because of their matching wedding rings…so tender. She started asking me a bunch of questions, then I asked her a couple questions, and then it got to the point where I should have said, “Well, it was good to see you again,” and then walked away.

But, of course, I’m not that graceful.

Me (standing next to life size Uncle Si cut out): “So do you like Duck Dynasty?”

“Friend”: “No way, I’m not really into trashy TV.”

Timeout: Now that I think about it, I would have never followed up with this question if she hadn’t just insulted my taste in television. I mean she didn’t know I secretly want to be a Robertson sometimes, but still.

Me (panicking because I have no idea how to follow such an insulting statement: “Oh…uhhh….well, how is married life.”

“Friend”: “Good.”

Awkward silence.

Me: “Well, that’s nice.”

Awkward silence.

I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only logical thing someone like me could do. I picked up the Uncle Si throw pillow, I looked at the girl, and said, “I actually really love this show. And you should too.”

Then I just walked away. I hate myself right now.

Until next time,

Carlie