Do you remember that old Happy Days episode?  Ratings for the show were dwindling, the “kids” had grown up, Fonzie was becoming that old, creepy uncle you don’t want to invite to Christmas dinner but have to, so they decided it would be cool to have Fonzie stir up some television drama by jumping a shark on skis.  Fonzie was on skis, not the shark.  Just to be clear.  Here’s a reminder:

That episode was the final proof I needed that Potsie and Ralph Malph just needed to come out of the damned closet already.  That episode also birthed the term “Jumping The Shark”, which is now used when something has went to shit.

I have officially jumped the shark, as of this morning.

School was delayed here by two hours due to bad road conditions but instead of sleeping in, I was wide awake at the butt crack of 6:30 a.m., writing an apology letter to my best friends for something that I won’t get into here but they were gracious and loving and funny, as usual.  That’s why I chose them to be my best friends.  Collectively, they told me to not give it a second thought.  And I won’t.

My recent weight gain has caused all kinds of physical problems I’ve never had before.  I somehow bruised or injured my heel since I’ve been home from a quick trip to Texas this past weekend.  It is incredibly painful to walk on so I have dusted off the old cotton candy pink Crocs out of desperation.  I started my diet (yes – again – and screw you) yesterday.  I have a lot on my mind and it’s safe to say I’m pretty overwhelmed but I didn’t realize how overwhelmed until this morning.

Our driveway is very steep, so when icy weather comes, we move the vehicles to the top of the hill so we have a chance of getting out if we need to.  On the long trek up the hill this morning, I heard our neighbor’s very loud modified car start up in his garage.

Now, I am happily married.  But I defy anyone to say that just because they’re married, they don’t give a shit about how they’re perceived.  We all want to be cute.  There’s no crime in that.  My usual standard when leaving the house, no joke, is asking myself would I be embarrassed if I was in an accident and had to get out to exchange information with someone?  Would I be mortified if a Doctor had to cut my panties off?  No?  Okay, let’s go.

This morning, I didn’t really give a shit and didn’t even care to ask myself those standard questions and was only reminded of those standards when I heard my neighbor’s car start.  E and I have debated if this dude is gay or not, which is really neither here nor there, but honestly, if he’s gay, I care more about how I look than if he was straight.  If you can impress a gay guy at 9:30 in the morning, you are fucking golden.  I was not golden this morning, as I realized in utter horror that my neighbor saw me at length in this lovely ensemble.