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Dragging Feet to Catching Stride

By Brooke Benton

Once upon a time I met a really funny girl who I was certain was to become my best friend.  She had a silly, easy breezy, lovely way about her—open eyes, real people jeans on, her hair hastily pulled up into a something-or-other type mom hairdo with an elastic. We met on the root-torn sidewalk of our bungalow-ed street, her walking a dog and two kids, me pushing a toddler in a jog stroller, our eyes mirroring curiosity.

We exchanged vitals: a greeting, a quip, a proper introduction of names and then she said,

“I’m in your ward you know…”

(She paused as I puzzled it over—she wasn’t new, I wasn’t new, I’d never ever seen her at church…)

“Yeah,” she continued with a smile, “We’re just doing the inactive thing right now.”

I laughed when she said it, but have suddenly adopted the phrase in the past few months. I say it to my husband, at bedtime, in this sort of pleading context:

“Aaron, can I just do the inactive thing for a while?”

Then, “WAH, WAH, WAH…”

(And, scene.)

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