Admitting defeat is something we all should do … at least once – it humbles us

I am able to admit when I can’t do something.

Like, cooking is a prime example.

Singing is another – which was evident when I was about 9 years old and tried out for a local production of “The Princess and the Pea” and I could not sing “Row, row, row your boat.”

All I wanted to do was sleep on 20 mattresses, but no, I wasn’t even cast as an “extra.”

I told my mom, “That play was stupid anyways.”

Flash-forward to junior high. There was another play. I tried out again by singing “Wind Beneath my Wings” by Bette Midler. I sounded like a dead frog as I belted out “It must have been cold there in my shadowwwww.”

After I failed to get a part – for a second time in my life – I finally said, “Screw it, I will just pay $5 to go see the play.”

Never again did I try out for a play. I joined the local dance studio instead – where as I stood on stage with six to 10 other people, I was less likely to look like an idiot, plus, it didn’t involve me opening my mouth to sing.

So, you see, I admit defeat.

But right now, my husband is pretending he is a world-class electrician.

You see, he wants an electrical outlet in the “unfinished” portion of our basement so he can plug-in whatever it is he wants to plug-in.

Twenty-long-ass-minutes ago, he cut the power to the location where he is pretending to be the world-class electrician. We have no Internet connection.

BUT, what we do have is our stupid house alarm beeping at ear-piercing volumes every 10 seconds.

I finally went downstairs to see what is going on …

Our son is sprawled out on the floor, playing with a dump truck.

ME — “Are you SURE you know what you are doing??”


That was in 1993. That was 20 YEARS ago. Is he serious?

I walked away, shaking my head.

It’s now been 40 minutes. I feel a headache forming. I don’t know how much more BEEPING I can take. It’s starting to drive me “BEEP-ING” CRAZY!

Why can’t men admit defeat? I did. I survived and everyone should be thankful they didn’t have to hear me sing on stage.

Our oldest is outside now, in the 29 degree temps, trying to break ice.

I may soon be joining him.

Oh, who am I kidding … it’s WINE O’CLOCK!




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