I've Been Using This New Story For Concede, Tell Me What You Think

My Great Aunt and Uncle have had a vacation home at a beachy destination for 47 years (I'm rounding up).

5km race happens every summer.

For the past 38 years (I'm guessing) they have had one of their guests run in the race.

And for 17 of those 36 years (again with the estimating) that has been us (Me, Husband, Kids).

Every year, Great Aunt and Uncle would drive to the community centre and register us for the race.

This year, the race switched to online registration only.

Great Aunt calls to tell me that they can't register us, we have to do it ourselves.

Go online.  Race reg opens tomorrow.

Go online next day. Race sold out.

1500 spots sold out in less than two hours?

How many people could possibly have Great Aunts and Uncles at beachy destination?

14 weeks later Husband is bringing bags in from the car and I blurt out: We aren't doing The Race. It Sold Out.

Great Uncle takes both my hands in his: I'm so disappointed.

Kill me now.

Wakes up the next morning and sips his coffee. I'm still so disappointed about the race.

(Kill me again)

Husband and I go for drive and notice that community centre is a-buzz with people picking up their race packets.

Husband says Let's go in and get Them a t-shirt for their collection.

No.

Why don't you at least try and see if you can get me a number for the race?

No.

Why are you drawing a line in the sand?

I'm not. It's just that this race SOLD OUT IN TWO HOURS.  OBVIOUSLY I will not be able to get you registered for the race.

(More coaxing and begging)

Fine. I stomp over to the T-shirt area and select a t-shirt for my Great Aunt and Uncle.

And then I see a woman holding a clipboard.

She is wearing a pen on a string around her neck.

She is clearly a race organizer.

(I am like a heat seeking missile with absolutely no willpower.)

Blah, blah, blah, Great Uncle I say to her. Blah, blah online registration, blah blah vacation home, blah blah I'm very disappointed.

Well, she says, Let me see what I can do.

A few minutes later she comes over to me clutching a race packet.

You weren't going to leave here without a number, were you?  She asks.

No. I smile.

But you were so nice, she says. I actually felt guilty that I didn't give you the number sooner. I don't know how you did that. I don't even have any extra numbers. But here's one for you.

Oh, Julie. (We are now on a first name basis).

Here is a copy of my book.

Can I take your picture?