Telling Tales – Emergency Contact

By ANGEL KANE, Wilson Living Magazine

No matter where you go these days or what you do, it seems somebody or other wants you to list your “emergency contacts.”

If you are like me, you don’t hesitate on the first one. I always list my husband because he is ultra dependable. But #2 is a problem.

In some ways, I believe your list of “emergency contacts” should be privileged information. Nobody needs to know if they are or are not on the list until duty calls.

But, as luck would have it, just this past week, Becky and I had the need to discuss it.
The call went something like this…

Angel: “Hey, what are you doing?”

Becky: (Strained silence at first and then…) “Have you checked your cell phone? I called you and texted you!”

Angel: “No, I don’t even know where my phone is. It’s probably dead at the bottom of my purse. What’s up?”

What followed was a tirade (she would call it a discussion, but I’d definitely say tirade…) about how she ran out of gas, was stranded on the side of the road, called me but I didn’t answer my phone, my voicemail box was full and I never responded to her text for HELP!

Angel: “Why did you call me? You know I am not “emergency contact” material. You should have called Brody.”    

Becky: “Brody is not my best friend!”

Angel: “So what? You are not on my emergency contact list.”

Becky: “Are you kidding me? Who do you have listed after Brody?”

Angel: (Strained silence at first and then… ) “I have Lauren listed.”

For those of you who don‘t know, Lauren is a friend to both Becky and I. She is our sensible, dependable friend.

She is my #2.

What followed was a tirade (she would call it a discussion, but I’d definitely say tirade…) about how she should hold the coveted #2 spot, because if there ever came the day when there was an emergency (and Brody couldn’t be found) she would definitely be there to help me. 

Angel: “Listen, we both know that isn’t true. Neither of us are good emergency contact material. I never answer my phone and you are the type of person who runs out of gas. Definitely not emergency contact material!”

What followed was a tirade (she would call it a tirade too) and now Becky is my #2.

Let’s all hope and pray Brody keeps his phone close.

 

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Monte Durham Say Yes to the Dress - Celebrity Guest at Blushing Bridal Show

Blushing Bridal Show

WLM - Bridal Show

 

From invites to the honeymoon, the 1st Annual Blushing Bridal Show has you covered! Plans for this bridal show began much like one would plan a wedding. There’s the location, the decoration and of course, the announcement. The Blushing Bridal Show is set to take place at The Mill on Sunday, February 20th from 1pm-5pm

Continue reading “Blushing Bridal Show”

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Telliing Tales – Mid Life Prices

By BECKY ANDREWS

I’ve hit mid life. While my older sister disagrees saying she’s not even mid life, I know it’s here. I can feel it in my bones, in my digestive track and I can see it in the crow’s feet once thought to be laugh lines.

I seem to be traveling fairly rapidly up the metaphorical hill so that one day I can dig my heels in to prevent from sliding down. It appears that not only is my age increasing in years and months but the cost to keep those years and months too noticeable increasing as well.

In the beginning, I had Noxzema and Sebreeze, Baby oil and iodine, Aqua net and electric blue mascara. I could eat a Big Mac, large fries and apple pie everyday for a week and not gain an ounce. I could sleep in my makeup and seldom breakout. And music had to be LOUD in order to be appreciated.

Now I’ve spent more on skin care than I paid for my first car. Most of it used to correct the damage caused by the baby oil I used to maintain a ‘healthy glow’.

Between haircuts, hi-lights, low-lights, shampoo and conditioners (without sulfates), and anti frizz treatments, I could have started my own wig line. My husband says anyone who spends good money on a curling iron AND flat iron must be suffering from some type of mental disorder.

When it comes to food, it’s even worse. Just looking at a Big Mac and fries makes me gain 5 pounds. I’ve traded in my flavored oatmeal for steel cut oats- that takes 10 times longer to cook! And broccoli is now my enemy no matter how or if it’s cooked. Years ago I didn’t care who saw me eating a doughnut. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve actually stuffed a doughnut in my mouth before anyone could see me eating it.

Music seems so loud these days. I need a flashlight and earplugs when shopping for my children in stores like Abercrombie or Hollister.

Not long ago, I was on the floor playing with my boys. At once both boys hopped up to run into another room. When I tried to do the same, I realized my body didn’t work quite as fast as it did when I was younger.

Now I remember a time when I thought 36 years old was ‘Like super old’. Mid life meant nothing to me then. For now I’ll listen to my older and wiser sister who insists she’s not even mid-life yet. Because according to her theory that would mean the average life expectancy for a female is around 92. I like the sound of that.

Becky can be reached by email becky@wilsonlivingmagazine.com This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

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Telling Tales – Family Secrets

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

As we were rushing to get ready for school Wednesday morning, the words I heard stopped me in my tracks. From the kitchen, I could hear my middle child revealing a closely guarded family secret. One I had demanded never to be exposed!

“Oh yeah – well I don’t care what you call me,” she said, “because you wear girl shirts to school!” (And she wasn’t talking to her sister.)

Then there was a silent pause, followed by a whispered, “No I don’t. Mama picks out my shirts.”

Immediately, I was transported back to the spring of 1979. It was my cousin, Jerry’s, birthday party. Jerry is one year older than me. My dad and his mother were siblings, we lived down the street from each other and we were practically siblings ourselves. (Jerry was my sibling…who got everything!)

After a day filled with cakes, balloons and festivities, my aunt brought out the grand finale. A new bike! A green, shiny, three-speed with a big bow on it!

I looked at the bike. Looked at my joyous cousin, looked my equally joyous parents and said (out loud):

“Ha! That’s a girls’ bike.” (And my cousin, Jerry… is not a girl.)

Suddenly, I was yanked into a back room, by my not so joyous parents, who forbade me to ever expose this closely guarded secret. To say I was threatened would be an understatement. In fact, in today’s world, I’m sure my parents would have lost custody over the things they said they’d do to me, if I ever gave away the secret.

Believing that my parents were not lying and that retribution would be swift – I kept that secret all summer long…as I followed my cousin up and down the neighborhood streets… on my old, hand-me-down Huffy.
 
But there comes a point, in everyone’s life, when we are not going to take it anymore!

For my middle child, that day was Wednesday, when her little brother dared to eat the last waffle in the house and then proceeded to call into question her IQ.
 
For me, it was yet another comment from my cousin…about my rather unfortunate 4th grade weight gain.

As my son, came running towards me – in his green polo …with buttons on left side, I did what any overworked, overstressed mother (who had failed to do laundry in a week) would do…

I lied and claimed the shirt was… unisex.

To which my middle child responded, “No, it isn’t, I picked it out of the girls’ section of the Gap!”

The look in my son’s eyes was much like the look my cousin Jerry gave me that summer of ‘79 after I had enthusiastically revealed to him that he had been riding a girls’ bike all summer long. 

“This is not a girls’ bike! You are a fat liar!” he said as tears came streaming down his face. 

To which I responded, “It is too a girls’ bike, crybaby, and by the way – – your mother also lied to you about your duck. It didn’t ‘run away’ at Easter.” 

(Yes, we were a family filled with deep, dark secrets.)

Retribution was swift and every bit as harsh as they said it would be.

So harsh that to this day, I cringe when I see a girls’ three-speed… or eat duck!    

Angel Kane can be reached at angel@wilsonlivingmagazine.com This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it . For more of Angel’s or Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Column & Blogs.

 

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