Wednesday, July 2, 2008

"Hello, I'm an idiot" and other stories

Despite the promise of a new Improv post this weekend, I have been MIA. Sorry. But my sister is here for a week and she's keeping me busy.

Okay, that's a blatant lie. I actually think she's a little bored (though she won't admit it) because I've been forcing her to watch many hours of Wimbledon (hello, horrendously long Andy Murray-Richard Gasquet match) and the Olympic swimming trials (Dear Aaron Piersol, Are you married? If not, hi. Love, Hannah).

We have also done a lot of eating.

But it has been fun, and also helpful. Helpful, you ask? How has it been helpful? Well, I shall tell you.

But first, a story. As I'm sure you all know, first-born children are, naturally, the smartest. I don't mean book-smarts and IQ, but in wisdom and life experience. Younger children are blessed (blessed, I tell you) with being able to benefit from the knowledge and path-blazing of their older siblings who were fated to be the first out of the familial nest, so to speak. My sister and I are no different, and there have been only a handful of times in our lives that my wisdom has failed me, allowing her to (temporarily) appear smarter. [Ed. Note: I say this in jest. I hope that's obvious. But if not...well. In jest.] One of those was last year. She and our parents were picking me up from the train or something, and I was hobbling along with my blue roll-y carry-on suitcase which has a short handle, requiring me to lean over slightly when I pull it. And, without so much as a hello, the conversation commenced:

G: Why don't you pull the handle out all the way?
Me: [with disdain] Um, because this is as far as it goes? I've used this suitcase for years, and this is as far as it goes..
G: No, it comes out further.
Me: No, I have hauled this suitcase all over the country, I think I would've figured it out by now.
G: [reaches over and pulls the handle out six more inches; gives me the "So there!" look]
Me: Huh.

So I'll get back to the Helpful story. First, you need to know that the Cold handle in my shower has been stuck since I moved in. For nine months, I have taken relatively hot (read: usually scalding) showers because I'm too lazy to call the super. I have created my own special version of the military shower. Anyway, on Saturday morning we had this conversation:

Me: I'm getting in the shower.
G: Ok, but how do you get the temperature right? It's always really cold.
Me: ...what? Cold?
G: Yeah, every time I stay here I end up having a lukewarm shower.
Me: I have spent NINE MONTHS being burned by the water, and you're telling me that you've been taking COLD SHOWERS?
G: [has not had her coffee yet and isn't sure why I'm raising my voice at this early hour] ...yes?
Me: Please show me how you have done this.
G: [walks into bathroom; turns the Cold handle turning it down rather than up (like the Hot handle]
Me: [dumbfounded]
G: [cracks up] That's a blog post!

See? Helpful. I can now bathe myself without having to do a jig in the shower. I know you're all so proud.

So anyway, that's what I've been doing: eating, and watching lots of sports, and getting schooled by my sister. Next up, St. Louis! I'm sure I will return with many stories, and I'll try to get back to the Improv-ing soon.

1 comment:

  1. Just letting you know that Michael was laughing so hard at this post that he almost cried. He looked at me and said "Has she really been taking scalding hot showers for 9 months? That's very Hannah to not call the super during that time and just deal with the hot water" To which I responded: "Well, at least she figured it out before I got there. I hate taking scalding hot showers!" So please thank Gretchen for me :)