So glad I cleared my schedule for my son’s cub scout pack meeting. It was, after all, his own personal Arrow of Light ceremony.
Historically, the powers that be congratulate the boy for all his hard work, and have him walk over a bridge representing his passage into the real Boy Scouts of America, and they bestow upon him a real, hand carved arrow, complete with obsidian arrow head.
And then they honor his mother by having him attempt to pin a small gold arrow pin onto her lapel.
By the way, what mother at a scout meeting has lapels anymore?
In my experience–which is actually pretty significant, as they do this pinning-the-mother thing once a year for every kid; I’ve been through it 15 times already for various stages of cub scout glory–it always turns into an exercise in the scout trying hard not to appear to be sticking his hand down his mother’s shirt and his mother trying really hard not to flinch as he tries to push a sharp metal object into her collarbone.
And who wouldn’t want to do that?
I know I was looking forward to it.
I told my visiting teachers that I couldn’t possibly meet with them that evening. Arrow of Light ceremony, sorry. I made sure my son’s shirt was clean, and that he knew where his neckerchief was. I started dinner early. That pizza dough was ready to put in the pans at 4 o’clock in the afternoon.
I had so much spare time from all my forward thinking, I decided to make cookies.
Yeah. Homemade cookies. See, I can be mother-extraordinaire when push comes to shove, too.
They were really good cookies. Or so I hear.
I was busy making breadsticks with the left over pizza dough.
And vacuuming my bathroom. And cleaning out the fridge.
Dinner was done and cleaned up and it was still like… an hour before bedtime.
On. A. Roll. Me.
I forgot to go to pack meeting. So did my son. Obviously. Because I am the designated driver for these things. And the rememberer. (Heaven only knows why.)
I did NOT do that on purpose.
I swear to you that on every level of my consciousness, I intended to show up at pack meeting.
With all my pertinent children, even.
How is this possible?
I’m thinking there’s a buck to be made in middle-aged-woman-sized shock collars. Nothing outlandish, of course. Just a simple (elegant even if you like, add some bling, why not?) design that could readily be worn at any function. It should sync wirelessly with a digital appointment keeping calendar and deliver a (preferably) non-lethal shock 30 minutes prior to all scheduled events.
It could even have a GPS function, so that if the middle aged woman in question is not actually on her way to the correct venue, the shocks would resume at 15 minutes, 10, and 5 minutes. Of course, it would have to be waterproof and permanent because otherwise she might forget to put it on after showering, etc. Or simply not have time to mess with the clasp more than once in her lifetime.
Look into it. I’m telling you–this is like back in the early sixties, when my newly graduated electrical engineer of a father in law could have invested a couple bucks in his boss’s company and become a millionaire. Instead, he thought to himself, “Hewlett-Packard? Home computers? Pffft.” He quit his job, sold his shares in the company, and took up farming. And now look where we are: Cutting grass with kitchen shears, and without personal secretaries to remind us of important events.
It could have been so different. Human shock collars, I’m telling you. The wave of the future.