Two events transpired over the course of the weekend. Two separate, yet equally embarrassing events that if not to make others laugh- there would be no reason for them to occur back to back unless life is playing a cruel and unusual joke on me. I am not amused.
Okay, I am now– but I was not then.
I feel that before regaling these nightmarish horror stories to you- I must warn you. If you are eating dinner- come back later. If you are chewing on something delicious- SWALLOW it or you may never find it appetizing again. Personally, I don’t think it’s all that bad, but I did have some butthurt turd-burglar tear me a new asshole after I’d already torn myself one and lived to tell the tale after the last tale of this magnitude- so now I feel that I must warn you just in case. So now you can’t complain if you are less laughy and more pukey.
It was Saturday afternoon. Me, the boys, and Thomas were out shopping. At the exact time of looming event- we were shoe shopping. And not even for me! Well, originally not for me. When you walk into a shoe store and they are screaming through the PA “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF OFF ALL SHOES!” your woman switch flips and you make a beeline for the hooker heels and fancy boots. Try as I might, I could not find anything I liked; talk about feeling like a failure as a woman! Thomas had wandered off somewhere and left the boys with me when my stomach did a flip flop. This was not good. I hadn’t had anything overly heavy or greasy for lunch- just a deli sandwich- but my stomach was angry. Fighting angry. I went from feeling normal to NEEDTOSHITNOW in under 30 seconds. The kind of “gotta go” where you pace back and forth, regulate your breathing, and start to sweat from the brow trying to keep the dam from exploding. As soon as Thomas moseyed back over to where I was frantically pacing- I blew right by him. Usually I would debate about whether or not one of the kids needed to go with me, and be unable to decide because on one hand- having a kid announce “EW MOMMY! IT SMELLS LIKE BUTT IN HERE!” is pretty fucking embarrassing, on the other hand, kids can act as a very loud distraction while you plop plop plop. No time for any of that- I was off, and I was alone, and I needed to a toilet to sit on immediately. There was no way in hell I was going to shit my pants in a shoe store. A clothing store, maybe- but not a shoe store!
I get into the bathroom and am relieved to see that the coast is clear- every stall was empty. I made my way into the very last stall- somehow in my mind if you’re gonna blow up the bathroom, you’d better do it the farthest away from the door leading out to where anyone can hear or smell it. Common courtesy!
Wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I sat down- the bathroom door swung open. I am not a fan of friendly fire, y’all. Not one bit. If my ass is going to explode- I’d prefer the answer to that whole tree falling in the forest- NO ONE IS AROUND TO HEAR IT SO IT DIDN’T MAKE A SOUND!
The problem was that there was no way to hold it. It was impossible.
I silently apologized to the poor woman who made the mistake of wandering into the bathroom at the most wretched of times- waited until she started her flow- and let it go.
The sphincter Gods… I don’t know if they were laughing at me or cutting me a break- because homegirl a few stalls away probably thought I was peeing too. And I was totally in the fucking clear until I was forced to safety flush. Damnit.
I spent the rest of the day praying not to have to chance the pee-poo with anyone else.
It’s the next day. Seriously, THE NEXT DAY. I had still not recovered completely from sting ring and was scared to even leave the house in fear that it would happen again- but like every weekend- there was shit to do. Lots of shit to do that didn’t get done during the week because with chronic back pain, dragging two Klingons around the city to run errands sounds about as appealing as a breakfast of week old hardboiled eggs in hell. No, no thank you. I will pass. Weekend it is. Weekend it HAS to be. Damnit it all to hell and damn my stupid stomach for randomly going apeshit on me.
We’re all trying to get out the door. I am guessing this is when Holden started getting sick because he was nothing more than a hot ass mess. To top it all off- the dog was being a complete asshole too. Parker, in a fit of disobedience and screeching- opened the front door and let him out. He proceeded to run his assholey ass out into the street to annoy and pee all over the neighbor kids because he simply cannot control his bladder when he is excited.
Little did I know that my monthly uterine discontent rubbed off on Thomas much like pregnancy hormones once did. He lost it. Three screeching beast-like humans and a dog spazzing out on strangers. It was quite the scene for the neighbor kids to behold. The correct word to describe their reactions would be “gawking.” Not like I’d usually care what some little kids think of me- but even I have to admit seeing everyone flip out into a rage when we’re just simply trying to leave the damn house is pretty embarrassing.
It might surprise you that we actually did make it into the car and on our way out to run errands- and by “on our way out” I really mean about 10 feet from the driveway, when Holden says
“Mommy! There’s a spider on the back of your seat!”
Now, I don’t know if you know this- but I am SEVERELY ARACHNOPHOBIC I cannot hear the word spider without my whole body itching and thinking they are crawling all over me. I can’t look at pictures of them- and I don’t give a fuck how small they are- I want them dead. And their whole family. DEAD. Don’t ever EVER tell me there is a spider on me unless you are smashing it into a puddle of guts as you do so.
I am not proud of this- but truth is truth and I must tell it to you- I fucking lost it. LOST IT. Like I was possessed by the damn devil and speaking in tongues. Screaming and flailing. Flailing and hysterically screaming “NO! GET IT AWAY! NO! NO! NO! GET IT AWAY!” while trying desperately to rip myself free from my seatbelt and fling myself from a moving car, only I couldn’t get the hell out. You know how in horror movies you’re screaming at the big boobed bimbo to run out the front door but her stupid ass is all derpy and panicky and runs up the stairs and you just know she’s gonna die? Yeah. That was me with the seatbelt, all the while Holden is yelling “SPIDER!!! SPIDER!!!! SPIDER!!!!!” and the car is careening left and right (at about .5 miles per hour, mind you) before Thomas finally manages to pull the damn thing over and I went flying out of the door. Into the street. Screeching. I look back down the street toward our house- and what do you think I saw?
Traumatized neighbor kids even more traumatized- frozen in place staring at me.
Even worse? The spider was basically micro-fucking-scopic. Not that I wouldn’t have freaked out but DAMN- that damn kid made it seem like it was a pregnant bloodthirsty vampire tarantula crawling up the back of my seat.
I hung my head and got back in the damn car. I’m pretty sure I’ll have a new wrinkle nicknamed FUCKINGPRICKSPIDER after that fiasco.
There is no moral to this story… other than maybe that I should never leave the house again- but I hope it made you laugh… otherwise this new wrinkle is a total fucking waste.
I take what I can get pic.twitter.com/OjsRGaRoxz
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I watch random things I find on Netflix without reading any reviews first, so I guess you could say I like to live dangerously.