Did you know that God has an amazing sense of humor? Well, He does-and I share that with Him; however, the joke is almost always at my expense, and today? Well today was no different.
It’s about one hundred degrees in the shade, and muggy as hell. I detest this weather, however, the dog needs to be walked-and I am a glutton for punishment. Been that way since I was a wee toddler, asking questions that had no answer, (Mary Lou did not take kindly to my constant questioning of everything) packing my Barbie suitcase in defiance-I would run to the Teany’s house-hey, they had one of those pianos that plays by itself, and their home was SO cozy-usually because my real mom was locked in the linen closet.
As a child, I was convinced that Marilyn Monroe was my real mother. When mom got cranky? I told myself that Marilyn would come and find me one day-and then she’d pay, oh yes, my mother would pay the price for causing me discomfort. 🙂
So, I’d run to the neighbor’s house, beg for cookies, unpack my suitcase (various crayons and doll heads, no body, just heads) and revel in my independence for the entire ten minutes it took for me to be retrieved-I cried every time Mrs. Teany called mom-I wouldn’t get my cookies, and needless to say? Mom was not the happiest camper when finding herself interrupted by her freakishly brazen daughter. I was four, for Pete’s sake.
Back to our : I drove down to the lake, thinking it would be cooler, and parked. The fishing guy was there, of course, as he was every morning -grumbling about the lack of bites; ornery but sweet as they come.
“I haven’t been down here in awhile. Last time I saw a snake!!!”
And indeed I had. The rat bastard hid under a bush, just waiting for some dumbass to come along-then he’s make his move. That’s right-and I ran like a cartoon character, as fast as my legs would carry me. I run from twigs that look like snakes as well, and, praise GOD, people don’t usually hear my screaming-a bit like a Tourette’s patient on crack- I have a really big mouth.
Okay…I always have to pee on our hikes. I have no problem with modesty (who hasn’t seen a naked hiny?????) but try to plan my spot strategically, avoiding any embarrassment, for the poor fool who finds me squatting. I came to the perfect tree that would bear my weight, and got down to business. The only problem?
The fucking mosquitoes saw that gimongous bullseye and went for it-right in between my ass cheeks, they held a bar mitzvah and talked amongst themselves. Only I didn’t notice until I had resumed hiking. I tried, like hell, to itch my buttocks-but my shorts were too tight. That didn’t stop me from repeatedly pinching the area, looking for relief from the painful itch. I tried to move faster, but it was an entire process folks.
And then it hit me. This is a job for….SPOON MAN. Why those words? I have not one clue, but I can tell you that the picture in my head of some dude dressed up as a spoon, running through the trails of Middlecreek, well, that cracked my ass up-literally.
The laughter took my mind off of the direness; the problem at hand. I had mace in my front pocket and my phone in my back, leaving not one iota of space in my jean shorts to, well, relieve myself, if you will.
By the time we returned? The itching had ceased.
But Spoon Man? He tickles my funny bone, this imagined super hero.
And for that I am incredibly grateful.