Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff and I dashed into WalMart, after having picked up a few groceries at the supermarket next door. It was getting late and we were treading dangerously close to “People of Walmart * ” territory. I was on a mission - a mission to procure a new hat and become awesome. I often have ill-planned notions and this one in particular involved me looking fresh and flirty in a fedora. You know, like Halle Berry , Reese Witherspoon or Jessica Alba . There was absolutely no way I was going to pull this off. I headed to the hat department and grabbed the first fedora I saw. It was super cute – straw colored with a sleek black band and - because we were in Walmart - it was sensibly priced at approximately $4.32, plus tax (and a smiley face). I lifted the hat from its cradle and held it in my hand. I could feel myself getting closer to nailing the chic “It” girl look I’d always tried to achieve. The excitement was audible – mostly because I was squealing out lo...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater “I think I broke my ankle.” The words slipped out of my mouth almost as fast as I had fallen down the stairs. Here’s the thing. When I walk down a set of steps, if I don’t suppress the urge, I flap my arms – not so much like a bird… more like an excited toddler, or a 1960s housewife who has just spotted a mouse. It’s neither a safe (nor particularly effective) habit. It’s a genetic flaw. My mother does it too. And so, as I raced from upstairs to down with an oscillating fan in one hand and nothing in the other (flap, flap) I didn’t stand a chance when my flip-flop festooned foot slipped tidily off the second last step.  Sitting at the base of the staircase, I could hear the voices of my family members somewhere off in the distance. Geoff was chatting with a delivery driver about the death of Andy Griffith while Jan was trying to convince the 3 year old to “set that damn frog free.” “Hello. Anyone. My foot just went numb. Is that bad?” I thought ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I woke up this morning to the sounds of a calm middle-aged woman telling me that my house might be on fire. Apparently, our smoke alarm talks, which theoretically is not a bad thing. However, the voice inside our detector is a female version of HAL , from 2001: A Space Odyssey . Her voice is so damn soothing, she might as well have been singing a freaking lullaby this morning, because after the initial jolt of hearing the beep, I started to drift back off to sleep. And, (I’m not sure because after all, I was asleep but...) I think I heard her say, " It can only be attributable to human error. Clearly, the smoke alarm people picked the wrong voice over actress for the job of announcer. Instead of using the voice of HAL, as played by Bambi’s mother, they should have hired, oh I don’t know… Kathy Griffin. You tell me. What would you rather hear while your house is aflame? “Um, excuse me. Fi-eye-ur. Tra, la, la. Smoke… detected. I think we’ll call ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Tim Roth has taken over my life.  It all began at the holidays when I noticed Geoff making frequent retreats to the bedroom with his laptop and a set of headphones. Me : Um, what are you watching? Geoff : Lie to me. Me :  I’m pregnant. Geoff : WHAT?! Me : You said I should lie to you. Geoff: Well played. Turns out that while searching for a Tim Roth movie on Netflix, Geoff had fallen victim to a television series called Lie to me .  He told me how the show was about Cal Lightman, a deception expert - played by Roth - who reads people by analyzing their micro-expressions. He further explained that the crime series was based on the real life research of a behavioral scientist called Ekman. Analyzing. Behavioural scientist. Micro-expressions. It all sounded about as exciting as disinfecting my loofah sponge. But Geoff was captivated and like a devoted addict, he invited me to give it a try.  Y’know, ju...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I need to murder my husband.  I do. It's getting out of control, and by "it" I mean his nighttime bathroom door slamming habit. It's the little things. He's always been a door slammer. I knew it when I married him but I suppose, like most idealistic wives, I ignored the problem and hoped that it would just go away. It didn't. During the day, I really couldn't care less if a door is slammed. So long as no fingers, heads or other body parts are in involved. But at night - at night - silence is sacred and anyone who does anything to disturb it, is on my list . Me (Cautiously, to my partner as he heads for the bathroom at 2am): Hun? Please don't slam the door. Husband : I DON'T SLAM THE DOOR! Me : Um, yes you do. And it wakes everyone up. So, please? Husband : HUFMDSHSFDFUFDSH Step, step, step... SLAM ! I'm not sure what it is exactly that makes him think he needs to slam and lock the bathroom door ...