Okay, Folks, Full Disclosure Time

Ok, Folks, Full Disclosure Time.

Things weren’t all sweetness and light at the 2019 LEAP award presentation.

Ok, Folks, Full Disclosure Time

Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of insinuating that our award winner was remotely less than at her best.

Mind you, the copious speech rewrites were quite something, but you couldn’t blame the old gal. Talking in front of 400 strangers is no easy feat at the best of times. Doing it an hour and a half after your regular bedtime and at 97 is a biiiiiggggg ask. However, Francine sailed through it like a pro.

Just between you and me, I might have been the mite exhausted, stressed and short-tempered one. To be fair, I only got three hours sleep due to someone’s bed-shaking snores  my usual first-night-in-a-new-bed-insomnia, and about five on the second. However, rather than bore you with a litany of examples of less than stellar Kelly behavior, I thought I’d share the beaut that is now firmly entrenched in family lore.

Just TypiKel

I’ve written before about Francine’s penchant for White Spot, the local restaurant chain. She loves eating there, especially because they let her select foods off the children’s menu. Therefore, it wasn’t newsworthy when she voted for a White Spot lunch on the way home.

“Do you know where one is, Kel?” My mother sweetly asked, mere minutes after we pulled away from the hotel.

I instantly grasped the importance of establishing the lead on this particular venture. Our classic Type A mother has led groups of tourists on multiple trips around South America and, some 40 years later, still finds it very difficult not to be running the show and calling the shots. If I didn’t take control now, she’d be alerting me to every. single. road sign. for the next 25 miles.

Looking back, her placid reaction to my clipped “Yes, I absolutely do, Mom. Please just be quiet and  admire the view” was beyond admirable. As was her silence when multiple construction detours forced us to drive miles out of our way. If I wasn’t so preoccupied, I’d have checked for a pulse.

Thankfully, there was a parking spot right out front and I rewarded my charge with the broadest and smuggest of smiles.

The restaurant’s interior was admittedly quite different than I’d expected. Instead of the usual cozy booths and ubiquitous gas fireplace, it was all scattered tables and low chairs. The tiled floor was littered with discarded napkins and folks were ordering from a counter. Nevermind. I needed to park Francine. It didn’t upset me that the only available table was next to the busy trash disposal area. The woman loves talking to strangers.

Oops …

“There are no White Spot signs anywhere, Kelly!” My observant mother muttered as she sank into a chair niftily designed for a toddler, her chin now a good two inches below the table’s surface. I breezily waved away her concerns.

“Oh, Mom. It’s a ‘Triple O’s,’ the takeout version of White Spot. They have them in Vancouver, too. Now, what do you want to order?”

“I’ll have my usual children’s pizza, please.” The nonagenarian suddenly snatched her elbow off the table to microscopically examine her sleeve. The table’s mysteriously chalky white streak mercifully didn’t leave a stain on her lovely mauve sweater.

“Ok. Now, please just stay put. We don’t want a repeat of what happened at the movie theatre,” I ordered, harking back to the time she broke a rib and punctured a lung …

I glared at her for emphasis and then briskly headed to the swinging overhead menu. Its contents were singularly odd; all liquid and mostly caffeinated. My weary brain struggled with a list riddled with Lattes, Americanos and Frappuccinos. Where was the one for pizzas, burgers and fries?

It was then that the penny finally dropped.

This was a Starbucks.

Francine’s gleefully told this story so many times, I’ve lost count. Here’s a little sample for those of you not in the #604.

“And then, Kelly sternly said, ‘This IS a White Spot, Mother. You’re wrong. It’s a Triple Something, you know, a White Spot’s busy person’s version. They’re all over Vancouver. Now, I’ll go order. Don’t you move a single muscle.’ And then she toddled off, leaving me parked in a child’s chair, right smack next to the garbage.”

If my car ran on giggles, we’d still be driving.

Enough about ‘Okay, folks, full disclosure time,’ I’m curious about you. Are you ever a bit snippy with the ones you love? Better yet, do you also sternly advise your children to first travel with someone they’d consider marrying? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.