A few nights ago, a curious thing happened. I was in my usual spot, working, had the television on "in the background" and was off in my own world. It was pretty close to George's bedtime. I can usually tell this by the way he makes his way downstairs after an evening of what he calls "Battling the Forces of Evil" (read: World of Warcraft) and this time I did NOT make the apparently colossal mistake of asking him if he WON (note: this a stupid, stupid question. Betcha didn't know that!).
Around said bedtime, he will typically come downstairs, test his blood (Hi sucky diabetes!), grab a snack, maybe watch a little bit of t.v., then gives me a kiss and goes up to bed. I'm a total night owl and just can't accompany him most nights. Besides, he falls asleep, literally, within 5 seconds of his head hitting the pillow, often in the middle of a conversation, and that = not fun for me, interestingly enough, so I stay down here doin' what I'm a-doin'.
This night, however, was a bit curious, as I mentioned. This night, George instead tested his blood, went into the kitchen for what I assumed was his insulin-friendly snack, then made his way PAST me, which never happens, and...got onto the treadmill. At bedtime, don't forget.
Hmmmm.
But wait! There's MORE!
George is so into his own thoughts right now that he has managed to overlook my presence in the room entirely. He positions himself on the treadmill and...well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Here's the timeline, in conversational format:
*Oblivious to my bemused stare for the previous three or four minutes, he finally glances over and finds me looking at him*
Gracie: *happy I got to see this and anxiously awaiting the results of this exchange* "Whatcha DO-un?"
I can see that he now realizes that I am not only here, but I have seen all this, and wish to discuss it. I watch as his wheels begin turning, trying to figure out a way to teleport himself to bed where he won't have to talk (and later read) about this.
George: *Crickets chirping*
This means he doesn't want to admit to ANYTHING. But...that's not how we ROLL.
Gracie: *My head happily tilted at the standard Questioning Angle, I try again* "Hee...whatcha dooooin?"
George: *Responds innocently, though with a hint of shame, masked by a valiant attempt at defiance and bravado* "Walkin' on the treadmill..."
Like this is no big deal, people do it all the time, WOT bee-yotch!?
Gracie: "AND?"
George: "and...eatin'..."
Gracie: "Eatin' WHAT?"
George: *embarrassed, but with laughter in his voice* "...frosting off a spoon....?"
Gracie: "Haahahaaaa. THERE it is."
George: "Hey! Doesn't the fact that I'm eating it on the treadmill cancel it out?"
Gracie: "Depends. ...Is the treadmill ON?"
George: *Embarassed and ashamed look returns. Hangs his head and chuckles as he replies* "Nooooo...."
Gracie: *Tries not to laugh harder than she already is*
George: "WHAT? Haven't you ever seen a man walking on a shut-off treadmill, in his socks, with his pants undone, eating frosting off a SPOOOOOON?"
Gracie: "Can't say that I have."
We both then go back to our thoughts and tasks as we were prior to the conversation, inexplicably forgetting to continue the conversation.
Gracie: *nothing*
George: *nothing*
'bout three and a half minutes later:
Gracie: "Wait. Did you say your PANTS are undone!?!"
George: *Walks away without responding*
That's right, friends n' neighbors. George came down at bedtime, grabbed himself a spoonful of chocolate frosting (in the absence of any actual CAKE, of course), then (in his socks and unbuttoned pants) hopped onto the powered OFF treadmill and, while thoughtfully licking the spoon, walked slowly on the conveyor, causing it to move just a little, but enough to be like a kid walkin' down the street, eatin' ice cream and thinkin' bout girls, baseball, n' comic books.
And it was just as cute and funny as it sounds.
