Thanks to some fat cells that apparently have no interest in shrinking…and chocolate that can’t seem to stop finding my mouth…last week I decided to increase my runs from three miles to five.

Since the kids have been out of school, I have been running on my treadmill. I plug along as they sit in the other room reading, watching TV, or playing video games. Usually they are facing me, and mocking me with their cute, little, non-fat, perfect, flawless, skinny, legs and arms. Oh sorry…I drifted there for a minute.

During my second day of this extended work-out, when I had just finished mile four and was feeling awfully proud of myself, I looked into the living room and saw my daughter watching me. I smiled at her, then morphed into Rocky Balboa, pumped my fist in the air and said, “Aren’t I doing a good job? I am so proud of myself.”

Instead of mocking me, she flat-out slammed me when she smiled back and said, “Mom. Your face is purple.”

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I am not a vain person. Sure, I try to keep fine lines from turning into deep trenches, and I color my hair. And, like any woman, I enjoy being pampered with an occasional pedicure. But, it’s not unusual for me to run out of the house in the morning with a baseball cap on, and nothing on my face but the wrinkles left there from my pillowcase.

When my daughter sees me looking this way, and she knows I’m on my way to the store, she’ll say, “You know you’re going to see someone you know, because you don’t have any makeup on”. She’s often right, but I normally don’t care.

Recently, I was buying flowers at a local nursery with my six year old son in tow, when he struck up conversations with various people in the check-out line. As long as he doesn’t start touching strangers, or telling folks they resemble sea creatures, I’m fine with him practicing his speaking skills.

One of the people he talked to was an older woman waiting directly in front of us.

I noticed that her appearance was much like mine. We were both in shorts and t-shirts, with dirty tennis shoes on our feet. Martha Stewart’s got nothing on my gardening attire.

But, the similarities ended with our clothing and lack of mascara, because she was much older than I was. Or, so I thought.

Suddenly, she turned to me and said, “Hey! I know you! We went to high school together! Remember? Remember me?”

I did remember her. I managed to utter something…something I’m sure sounded like a small yelp, because all I could really do was wonder if I looked like she did. No! I couldn’t! She was older than me. A whole year older.

We spoke for a few minutes…mostly about our mutual friend Julie, who I haven’t seen in years, but with whom she has stayed in contact. As she left the store she said, “I’ll tell Julie you said hello.”

The thing I said about not being vain? Well, so much for that…because as she continued to her car I yelled, “Don’t tell her what I looked like!”

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My husband likes to be right. Okay…I do too. But, it seems that whenever we place wagers regarding music knowledge, he always wins.

It started years ago, when he had attended an Aerosmith concert and I asked him if they played “Home Sweet Home”. But, what I was actually referring to was the song “Last Child”. Just because, “home sweet home” is in the lyrics, doesn’t mean it’s the title. I lost some money on that one.

After we started dating, we found that we both liked the band Silverchair. Their most popular, ever-present radio song was one that I believed to be called “Fatal Massacre”. My husband quickly corrected me saying the title was “Pure Massacre”. What? That makes no sense. He may have been right, but Silverchair clearly didn’t see that “fatal” works better than “pure” next to the word “massacre”. And, they call themselves musicians?

This was followed by a discussion of Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On”…quite possibly my favorite song EVER. My husband told me that the song was based on J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, but I couldn’t figure out how he knew that. When he said that Gollum was mentioned in the song, I went through the lyrics in my head and found no mention of that rotten Hobbit.

But, it turns out that Robert Plant wasn’t singing, “Gaw if that evil one…”, but instead was saying, “Gollum, and the evil one…”. I was wrong again. That’s right. I didn’t even know the lyrics to my favorite song…or even know what it was really about.

Quite frankly, I have made enough mistakes that I could make this the longest post in all of blogging history.

Of course, I’m not alone. Lots of people screw up song lyrics. At least, that’s my defense and I’m sticking to it.

I had a friend in high school who thought the Grateful Dead song titled “Might as Well”, was actually called “Minus Twelve”. We let him think that for a long time too.

Recently, someone said they misunderstood the song lyrics in “Hotel California”. Instead of, “What a nice surprise…” she thought Don Henley was singing, “When your rabbit dies…”

And, who actually knew the correct lyrics in “Blinded by the Light” were, “Revved up like deuce…”? You know you’ve all said, “Wrapped up like a douche…”. Don’t lie.

What I’d love to know boys and girls, is what song lyrics have you messed up?

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Yesterday morning, I noticed that my six year old son’s voice sounded funny.

I picked him up and said, “I think you’re getting a cold. Your voice sounds hoarse.”

Then he confirmed why I call him the next Jim Carrey, when he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Neigh“.

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