About once a month, I lose my cell phone. I usually find it out front in the flower bed or in the pocket of a jacket I wore several hours ago.
No problem, I go get my neighbor, Brenda, and she comes over and calls me over and over until we can flesh it out.
Tonight it didn’t work. We walked all over the house and didn’t hear that irritating jingle that everyone over the age of 50 has stuck on their phones. (We’re not smart enough or don’t care enough to program in a cool tune.)
We finally found the phone in my car. As we walked back into the house, Brenda did this little funny step to get up the stairs – kind of a dip and a lunge. I followed suit because that’s the only way I could climb them in my new infirmity.
Dip and lunge. Dip and lunge. She did it, I did it. We looked at each other and broke out in hysterics. Hell, that’s the only way we could get up the steps. It was a kind of dance when you think about it.
So Brenda and I invented the new “Locomotion” right there on my side porch under the street light in front of the whole world. I predict it will be the rage of 2011. We even bumped our hips to make a statement – well only once – we couldn’t take another Ibuphrophen for four more hours.