Yesterday I drove to Danville, Illinois, with my youngest daughter (Brittney) so she could get her hair done. While her sister-in-law, Laura, highlighted and cut her hair, I watched her children (my grandchildren), Audery, Nolan, and Avery, as I awaited the arrival of their other grandmother who, when she arrived, would take them and her three other grandchildren, Noah, Isaiah, and Joshua (Laura's boys), with her on vacation to Indianapolis.
Brittney had brought along a bag of cheese popcorn, her only meal for the day so far. She asked me if I wanted some. After taking a bite of it, however, she discovered that it was actually spicy cheese popcorn. Not wanting to deprive her of her breakfast and lunch, I decided I would try just one. She handed me the bag to taste. Yes, a little spicy, but good. I asked Noah, who was sitting next to me, if he wanted to try it.
But instead of asking Noah, "Would you like some spicy cheese popcorn," I asked, "Would you like a spicy hotdog?"
Don't think about that for too long. I didn't even realize I had said it (as usual), but fortunately I have a daughter who pays attention to every mistake I make. Brittney noticed.
Had she not been standing next to me at the time, I might have questioned Noah's polite refusal as he smiled the kind of smile that said, wow, that was weird, but Brittney, always aware of my screw-ups, noticed immediately what I said and enjoyed bringing it to my attention.
On the way home, I said something else that ended up being hotdog instead of what it should have been, and we both laughed and discussed this strange oddity that has now, for reasons unknown, become part of my life.
WHY? OH WHY AM I FIXATED ON HOTDOGS? I don't even like hotdogs, unless they're grilled and covered with all kinds of toppings. And then I remembered that Brittney had bought me a hotdog at Audrey's practice game the night before. Yeah, that must be why I can't stop accidentally talking about hot dogs (roll eyes).
What is it with me and hotdogs, I wondered aloud as Brittney drove me home. And then I forgot about it until I arrived home. As serendipitous as it sounds ;) hotdogs again became the focus of my attention when I noticed I had received a message from Lindsey, one of my other daughters, asking me how long she should boil hotdogs since she was used to just grilling them and now had to boil them for children who apparently ate only boiled hot dogs.
Again, with the hotdogs!
STOP, Universe, I found myself screaming! Why are you slamming me in the head with hotdogs lately? Is some subliminal message hiding inside these hotdogs? And why am I now calling everything a hotdog?
My brain is flooded with images of hot dogs. I remember one of my grandchildren, Sarah, when she first visited me as a little girl after I moved into a manufactured home community. She noticed the shape of most of the homes and wanted to know why some people lived in cracker houses and others lived in hotdog houses.
Just this morning I received a message from a dear friend of mine who talked about George Bailey (from one of my favorite movies, It's a Wonderful Life). And what did George Bailey say every time he walked into the store after he said, "I wish I had a million dollars"? – you guess it – Hot Dog!
The informal version of the words, "hot dog," or "hotdog," according to the dictionary that came with my Text Edit program on my MacBook Pro, is that hot dog is (I would say "was" since I haven't heard anybody since George Bailey use the word in this manner) used to express delight or enthusiastic approval. It also means a person who shows off – as in one who performs stunts or tricks.
I think of my friend Katherine (God rest her soul) who would say to me, what do you think the Universe is trying to tell you? Well, Katherine, I've decided the Universe has fast-forwarded to the end of time and is now sending me weird messages that make no sense, like, "You must now eat hotdogs for the rest of your life," or "Start hoarding hot dogs." Maybe, if I think about this positively, the Universe is saying, "You will now be receiving a million dollars – hotdog!" (I kind of like that last one.)
But maybe it's just the wiring in my brain that's screwed up, because I confuse all kinds of items. Why else would I refer to a peacock as a penguin, the dishwasher as a microwave, and popcorn as a hot dog? Sometimes I wish I could upload a program to fix the problem.
Then again, I'd miss out on so many blog opportunities, like the ones below:
Whatever it is, hot dogs became fodder for this blog, so thank you for visiting my hot dog (I mean my blog).
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