I'm something of a perfectionist, so I like to bring my 'A' game to whatever I do, be it my job or doing laundry. It should be no surprise, then, that when I decided it was time for my mid-life crisis, I would aim high (no pun intended...you'll get it in a minute.)
It all started a few weeks ago when I turned 39. I started to wonder what the heck I've been doing with my life. I have yet to become a famous author or to turn down a marriage proposal from Vin Diesel. Nobody has named a newly-discovered variety of orchid after me, and lets face it, I have failed to achieve the status of fashion icon in my community. In fact, they've started to complain at the local grocery store when I show up in my pajamas. Sure, everyone thinks it's cute when the teenyboppers do it, but when an unshowered old bag shows up in the produce section wearing her Spongebob nightie, now all of a sudden the store manager wants to call the cops.
But I digress.
The point is, I was panicking. Time was running out, and I still hadn't made my mark on the world.
So I decided to climb Mount Everest.
Really, I don't know why I'd waited this long to think of it. I could take a leave of absence from work, buy some sensible snow boots, hire a Sherpa, and hike my way to the top of the world. Brilliant! Exactly what I needed to pull myself out of this slump!
I googled Mount Everest as soon as I got home. The first thing to come up was the number of frozen corpses that still litter the path up the mountain. I was fine with that. Maybe we could set up camp on top of George Mallory. You know, because he's there.
As I scrolled through the pictures of this truly awesome natural masterpiece, it dawned on me what I was seeing. Lots of snow. And lots of high peaks. Potentially slippery peaks, what with all that snow.
I remembered a few important things about myself. Like how I start to whine if the thermostat is set below seventy. And how I have a tendency to trip over my feet so often that I've often been compared to an old Chevy Chase skit. Not to mention that not one of my friends is a bona-fide Sherpa guide. As I stared at a particulary breathtaking photo taken from the summit of Everest, my dream of climbing to the top went up in smoke. Which was okay, because where there's smoke, there's fire, and I really do appreciate being cozy warm.
Instead, I decided to buy six packages of Hostess®
sno-balls and eat them all in one sitting. The snack cake-induced sugar high made me forget all about my failed hopes and dreams, and once I washed it down with a shamrock shake, I was feeling much better about life in general. Crisis averted, and now I have these brand new super-chic snow shoes to boot!
It all started a few weeks ago when I turned 39. I started to wonder what the heck I've been doing with my life. I have yet to become a famous author or to turn down a marriage proposal from Vin Diesel. Nobody has named a newly-discovered variety of orchid after me, and lets face it, I have failed to achieve the status of fashion icon in my community. In fact, they've started to complain at the local grocery store when I show up in my pajamas. Sure, everyone thinks it's cute when the teenyboppers do it, but when an unshowered old bag shows up in the produce section wearing her Spongebob nightie, now all of a sudden the store manager wants to call the cops.
But I digress.
The point is, I was panicking. Time was running out, and I still hadn't made my mark on the world.
So I decided to climb Mount Everest.
Really, I don't know why I'd waited this long to think of it. I could take a leave of absence from work, buy some sensible snow boots, hire a Sherpa, and hike my way to the top of the world. Brilliant! Exactly what I needed to pull myself out of this slump!
I googled Mount Everest as soon as I got home. The first thing to come up was the number of frozen corpses that still litter the path up the mountain. I was fine with that. Maybe we could set up camp on top of George Mallory. You know, because he's there.
As I scrolled through the pictures of this truly awesome natural masterpiece, it dawned on me what I was seeing. Lots of snow. And lots of high peaks. Potentially slippery peaks, what with all that snow.
I remembered a few important things about myself. Like how I start to whine if the thermostat is set below seventy. And how I have a tendency to trip over my feet so often that I've often been compared to an old Chevy Chase skit. Not to mention that not one of my friends is a bona-fide Sherpa guide. As I stared at a particulary breathtaking photo taken from the summit of Everest, my dream of climbing to the top went up in smoke. Which was okay, because where there's smoke, there's fire, and I really do appreciate being cozy warm.
Instead, I decided to buy six packages of Hostess®
sno-balls and eat them all in one sitting. The snack cake-induced sugar high made me forget all about my failed hopes and dreams, and once I washed it down with a shamrock shake, I was feeling much better about life in general. Crisis averted, and now I have these brand new super-chic snow shoes to boot!
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