I suppose I should tell on myself before I finish the Pat pratfall moments. Okay, here goes….keep in mind this happened before my first cup of coffee…this morning I used hair scrunching gel like fragrance.
Suppose that’s why my hair feels a little flat and my elbow pits make a horrid Velcro sound when I straighten my arms?
Back to Pat, who is getting ready to ride down the grassy knoll.
Boat shoes. For our family, those simple words conjure up snickers and the favorite phrase … “These shoes are outta here!”
I suppose boat shoes serve a purpose though the soles that can’t handle a little wet grass leave me scratching my head. Why on earth would someone design a shoe for a smooth wooden surface that is often covered in water?
Maybe they were invented by a sadist, or someone who loves a great water-bound pratfall. Or maybe the cheap knock-offs that Pat purchased ended up being the only brand in America that caused loss of limb, life or pride.
Who knows? If you do, I’m not sure I want you to shatter my carefully guarded naiveté, but if you must share your boat shoe wealth of knowledge you should be able to figure out how to comment.
But I digress. This post is not about boat shoes, it’s about Pat.
My mom and dad throw regular summer get togethers. Their place is perfect for them, a lush garden environment, great scenery, lots of room, a pool. Pat is always the last one to arrive even though he lives there. There are always projects and he’s usually neck deep in them as the first guests arrive.
Pat’s legendary pre-company protocol has become a “Where’s Waldo” sort of a game for the kids.
“Where’s Grandpa?”
“Oh, look, I see his crazy hair behind the horse tank.”
This particular get together was no different, except for the fine new boat shoes that clad Pat’s feet as he rounded the corner. We’d all settled at the side deck where the view was fine, the breeze was blowing and the hills gently sloped. Pat zipped toward us. He must have caught the gentle sloping hill just right though, because BAM! he was down sliding toward home. A baseball player would have been proud of the slide.
Pat’s head popped up over the hill. He sported a big, cheesy grin. “Oops.”
We all chuckled politely. Yeah, right.
Of course, the second time he road the same hill with the same shoes, his response was slightly more than “Oops.”
Hence one of our favorite family phrases.
Now that I ponder it, I think he still has those boat shoes.
