He swears to the effectiveness of this technique in helping him achieve whatever his heart desires.
He has visualized touch downs, losing weight, and straight A’s.
That’s why it came as no surprise when he suggested I make use of it this morning.
“Mom, the guys and I stopped at the new supermarket to get energy drinks after our run yesterday. You know, the one you said you wanted to go to.”
“And how is it?”
“What do you mean, how is it? It’s a supermarket. But it does have something you’re going to love.”
“Javier Bardem handing out flyers of the weekly specials?”
“No! Free coffee.”
“What do you mean, free coffee?”
“Free coffee, as in there’s a coffee pot in the middle of the supermarket, grab-a cup-while-you-shop, free coffee.”
Visions of coffee beans danced in my head as I visualized myself drinking cup after cup whilst leisurely perusing the aisles.
“But, isn’t that supermarket three miles away?”
“Yep. But if you visualize the coffee pot at the end of your walk, the distance will seem shorter. Besides, aren’t you always saying you need to burn calories?”
He did have a point. I was always saying that.
So late this morning, I set out on the three-mile walk that would lead me to the coffee bearing supermarket.
There was pep in my step, a gleam in my eyes, and joy in my heart as I visualized the coffee pot at the end of my journey.
As I left the house, I smiled at the shining sun and thought, “It’s good to be alive.”
As I walked, elderly citizens passed me on their bikes and waved good morning.
I happily waved back.
However, a mile into my journey, I became aware that my underwear was starting to bunch up.
The realization that I was wearing my “stay in the house, do like a sloth” underpants, did not upset me in the least.
I simply tugged at them discretely and carried on.
It was then I noticed the tree-lined path.
I was taken with it on sight, and quickly dismissed the initial shock of how it seemed to go for miles.
I remembered the Son’s advice of “Just follow the path, Mom, but stay to the right cause the bikers use the middle path.”
Fortunately, I remembered this just in time to avoid getting hit by a man on a speed cycle who fiercely yelled, “Get off the bike path, you dimwit!”
I quickly thought, “Well, someone hasn’t had their morning coffee!” and continued on my walk.
A mile into my journey, I became aware of just how heavy my tote bag was.
Had it really been necessary to bring my camera, my wallet, keys, germ cleaner, a water bottle, my passport, lip gloss, a pocket mirror, and Roxy’s poop bags?
Not wanting to dwell on this further, I walked on.
A half mile later, I again felt my underwear wedged firmly in my butt.
Irritated, I pulled them out, cursing lingerie stores the world over for their inability to birth the perfect pair of underpants.
An elderly lady rung her bike bell and I quickly dismissed her with a curt wave as I turned my attention to the path in front of me.
A few steps further, I stopped to ask out loud to no one in particular, “My goodness, am I only halfway through my journey?”
Onward I pushed, much like a leprechaun who envisions a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Two and a half miles later, I stopped once again to tug at my underwear.
Gone was the discrete, gentle tug and in its place was the “grab the leg band and yank hard enough to rip the suckers.”
The sun was scorching hot, gnats were making their way up my nose, and my neck itched.
More irritated than ever, I wanted to pull down my pants, peel off the offending underpants, and continue my journey “commando.”
At the three-mile mark, I was ready to jump in front of a car and end my misery.
The supermarket was no where in sight and the coffee visions had seized to exist a half mile back.
I cursed the Son and his visualization nonsense under my breath.
I stopped to ask a stranger for directions, unfazed by his look of fear as he hurriedly pointed me in the right direction.
It was then I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the shop windows.
My “up do” was no more.
In its place was a halo of frizzy flyaways.
Sweat glistened on my forehead and upper lip.
My lip gloss had migrated down to my chin, and I had perspiration marks under my arms.
As for my underwear, they had taken up permanent residence in my ass.
I looked like an escaped mental patient who’d been off her meds for weeks.
Nevertheless, onward I walked, and that’s when I saw it.
The supermarket sign, beckoning me to cross the finish line.
I ran a hand over my disheveled hair, wiped my sweaty face on the back of my sleeve, and stopped dead in my tracks.
What if after all this trouble, there was an “Out of Order” sign on the coffee pot?
What if there was no gold at the end of this rainbow?
I sought solace in my favorite saying, “It’s not the destination that counts, it’s the journey.”
And then I thought, screw the journey. There’d better be coffee in that pot!
And there was.
Oblivious to the fact that I looked like a homeless person chugging on a fresh cup of coffee, I contentedly sipped the “flavor of the week.”
As I inhaled the coffee’s aroma, something told me I’d be back next week.