This song would definitely be a part of the soundtrack of the movie of my life. Did you ever do that? Cast the people who would play the roles, pick the music and highlight the stories that make you who you are-or even the person you hope to be-one day? Hey, it’s fund and if you’re caught waiting somewhere, it’s a hell of a way to pass the time. Melissa McCarthy would definitely star as myself-just watch one of her movies and you’ll get a sense of who I am-only I’m not quite as brave as my favorite actress.
What was it? Tammy, that’s the flick that kills me dead, each and every time I watch it. The scene where she puts a paper bag over her head and robs the fast food joint-the very same restaurant she was terminated from just hours prior? My stomach hurts just thinking about laughing that hard. She slays me, that girl.
Anyhooser, I could hardly pour myself out of bed this morning. Fact is, I woke at 7:30-early enough-and it took real grit not to turn around and jump right back into my rumpled sheets and quilt. Ah, I had plans for today-big plans people. First, I would hike my golden to the point of pleasant exhaustion. Then home to bake-a chocolate cake for Dwain (box) and oatmeal, coconut and dark chocolate cookies (homemade.) After that? I would spend the duration of my day painting antique vases and work out in the garden. Finally, getting horizontal with a Kunz and a Kombucha. Ahhhhh…
Hell, I could take the Walmart special (what we call my camera) and pack a picnic lunch, get into my photography again. Oooh, maybe even stop into the Rescue Mission, or visit my elderly neighbors-something I have been meaning to do, well, forever. I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm. After recently deciding to start living my life; doing more than cleaning and hiking day in, and day out. Maybe even pampering would come into play. A lavender Epsom Salt bath? A…
I was momentarily interrupted by my husband’s phone call.
“I’ll be home around 10, baby. You don’t have to rush, but I’d start getting ready now…feed the menagerie, have your coffee.”
What the Harry are you talking about? I asked.
“The drag races, honey. We’ve had these plans for months..”
I thought that was tomorrow! I cried, tears literally came to my eyes. Ridiculously enough, I was all set to have a personal day, tickle my fancies and enjoy my freedom. But, but, but…I couldn’t show my disappointment, Dwain had spent two hundred big ones on four tickets to Maple Grove Speedway, and he LOVES the annual drag races.
Okay, sweetheart, I’ll see you soon, I say.
What could I do but give myself an attitude adjustment? I packed a bag with the essentials-cushion for the bleachers, a book, my phone, headphones to protect my ears, yada, yada, yada…I could see Dwain was disappointed when he arrived, as I wasn’t near ready. It is a low energy, low oomph day for me-I downed a cup of coffee while I hurriedly dressed-taking a moment to look at my husband, now pacing in the driveway.
I have a bit of a problem going to venues such as outdoor events. Not only do I pee approximately every ten minutes, but I am virtually phobic when it comes to those claustrophobic, disease ridden and oh so fucking gross, metal outhouses. I have the willies just talking about it. I. LOATHE. THEIR. VERY. EXISTENCE. So, we get to the races-unbeknownst to the narrator, there was a very clean brick building about 300 yards from her seats-in which there were nicely kept, incredibly clean stalls.
As Dwain and I had walked for hours, I couldn’t wait to sit my sorry ass down. Could not wait. First I had to relieve myself, and how. I look near and far (translation-within twenty feet of my face) and come to the horrifying conclusion that there was NO OTHER WAY.
I held my breath and dove in. Feeling faint of heart, I drop my drawers and squat. I am wearing my brand new Calvin Kline jeans, which I found at a thrift store and fit me to a tee. I’m five one in stocking feet, in addition to being a curvy girl-when I find a pair of jeans that actually fit, fit? Why, these precious few pairs of pants are to be coddled; only Woolite, cold water…I have jeans from fifteen years ago. In total? I own maybe six pairs of levis that I look ok in. I hold onto my clothing like a bear holds on to honey. I am the Queen of Thrift, and I know how to make my wardrobe last.
As I am squatting I am praying that I don’t wet my Calvins. My ass was pretty damn far from the seat, I could not bare to get any closer.
“Please, Jesus. It’s five minutes into this outing.”
Well, the prayer was prayed too late, and when I stood? The entire backseat area was covered in urine. I had no choice. I was forced to pull up my soaked trousers, and, gasping for air-walk out with my head held low.
I then sat in wet, urine soaked jeans for approximately four hours.
I cringed each time I stood, for fear what the people behind me must think.
Upon return to our humble abode, I head for the showers.
Color me sterilized. 🙂