Among our group of friends, I am lovingly referred to as a “one-upper”. Someone tells a story, and I come back with something to top it.

If you reflect on the time you were driving in a snowstorm, I will tell you a story about walking through a blizzard and not being able to see two feet in front of me. If you were rear-ended by a car, I’ll tell you about the time I was hit by a semi.

My two favorite words in conversation are, “That’s nothing.” But really, a girl can’t help it if she’s that irritating interesting.

But, my husband is the master competitor. It doesn’t take much to get him defensive either. If you could declare a winner in conversation, he’d be sure to snag the gold medal. Though that medal would come at the expense of the other person. A person who ends up an exhausted heap on the floor crying, “Uncle! For the love of bacon…UNCLE!”

Last night, the two of us went to a concert. I had been painting and scraping wallpaper all day (You’ve scraped wallpaper? I’ve scraped nine layers.) and barely made myself presentable before running out the door. When we got to the stadium, I realized I had forgotten to put my wedding ring on.

As I do a hundred times a day, I went to rub my thumb against my rings. Only I didn’t feel metal, just bare skin. I turned to my husband and said, “Aw! I forgot to put my rings on! I rub them all the time and it feels so weird when they’re missing”.

He asked, “You rub them?”

I said, “Yeah. Not consciously, but I rub them all the time.”

He replied, “Well, I do this…”. And then he turned into Mr. Competitive, and licked his wedding band.

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Yesterday, a UPS delivery was set on our back porch and my daughter went to retrieve it. I heard her bring it in, and from the other room I asked, “What is it?”

She replied, “It’s for Dad. It’s a white box and it says fra-gee-lay“.

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The other day we were in the car, when my daughter looked up from the book she was reading and asked, “Mom, what does vulgar mean?”

I replied, “Well, it means bad. Like dirty bad.”

Then my son jumped in the conversation, and simultaneously brought it to an abrupt end when he proudly said, “I’m vulgar!”

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These are two of the too many magazines to which I subscribe. Who else is impressed that I just used all three versions of “to” in one sentence? Oh, just me. Okay then, let’s talk demographics, shall we? Please don’t be intimidated by my stunning photography skills.

One of these magazines has articles so hip that they have to include hip in the title. Even the ads are youthful. I think it was Pat Benatar who said, “Beer is for children”.

The other magazine has articles titled, Drink Your Vitamins and Do Your Armpits Need Botox? The ads? Well, let’s just say that most of them contain the words “wrinkle reducing”…and they’re not talking about ironing.

Back to magazine #1. Oh look! More jeans and alcohol.

And, magazine #2. Need I say more?

I am too old to wear jeans with a brand name like Acne, and I’m too young to need Depends or face spackle. I would say I’m somewhere between bootcut Levi’s and fine lines.

There must be a publication that meets in the middle. I need a magazine that recognizes the in-between woman. Because if I drank enough of that Bud Light Lime, it’s possible I would piddle in my pants.

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