Note to self . If someone gives you a really nice big piece of mint chocolate (my fave) dont take a bite and put the rest in your pocket then reach in later driving down the highway. I got a huge handful of melty chocolate and had to drive down the road with one hand in the air covered in chocolate, with more than a few looks. It didnt help the rubber neckers that not only did I have brown fingers but my stethescope was hanging from the rearview mirror. I had to wait until I could pull over and clean my hand off and I didnt get to eat the rest of the mint chocolate. Saaad face, but on the upside my hand smelled like mint, lol
oh, the psychopaths we work with! arent they fun, it’s like having a continuous argument with a serial killer, except everyone likes them. If you have ever had the misfortune to work with one, then we are blood brothers. I encounter one every day, she is silent and unpleasant, unseen yet deadly. her powers of persuasion are honed and skillful like Manson, she is petty like a five-year-old and petulant as a teenager. An actor on the stage of life dragging me into her drama upstaging my lines. So what do I say of this? ” is this to be endured, it shall not be” and what did I do about it ? “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” and when I went to the boss, I begged, I pleaded, “Clean it up, I said clean it up! ” and thus she replied, “A man in my position can’t afford to look ridiculous. Now you get the hell out of here.”
I was dismayed but not deterred. I was resolved to handle it myself. Then it came to me, ” Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?” No that would not do. So I confronted her about all her nasty evil ways. Her reply said it all. “I may have implied on several occasions to several different people that I may have been Jesus Christ, but I haven’t decided yet what I am or who I am,” she said. Well, that gave me pause to think, then I replied saying, “I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.” We were at an impasse. What could I do? but then, when I thought all was lost, the sword of Gryffindor presented itself to me. I yelled across the room and drew my sword. “We’ve all got both dark and light inside of us, what matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.” in one swoop I cut the snakes head off. As I did the boss came out surveying the moment, displeased intensely she said: ” We could have all been killed- or worse, expelled.” and I replied
“Accidents don’t happen to people who take accidents as a personal insult.” I realized then “I know what I have to do now. I’ve got to keep breathing because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?” As I walked out the door I looked over my shoulder, my parting words were this, “I’m too old for this.”
We all know how nice it is to be invited to a dinner at a friends or family’s house. The thought of a home cooked meal that you didn’t have to prepare and no dishes to do after puts a smile on anyone’s face. All that after dinner lounging and meaningless conversation makes for a wonderful evening when its mixed with an abundance of alcohol and dessert.
Yet I have my reservations whenever I am invited because I’m never quite sure what they might serve up. Will it be palatable or a big mess of crap. Will I be allergic to anything or worse than that, will it make me go. Yes, I said it. You know that meal. The one that looks soooooo good and might even taste better or worse, the meal that doesn’t. Either way its the meal that sets of that wonderful peristalsis that’s friends with your colon and oh so delicate stomach.
I had that pleasure a few weeks back when an unexpected invitation crossed my path. It was a wonderful surprise in a busy week of quick take outs and stress. I couldn’t wait. When the evening arrived I went freshly showered and quaffed with a voracious appetite and as I walked through the door a lovely aroma of lasagna met my olfactory making my mouth water.
It began well with catch up conversation and hugs all around. Cute little kiddies playing in their gratefully distant rooms. All their arguments and tears out of earshot. As I dug in I couldn’t help but think that all that dairy might just set me off but my alter ego, Ms. appetite superseded my common sense. I rationalized it by telling myself I’ve got enough time to have a quick dessert and polite goodbye and get to my own bathroom.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, and it was weaving in my bowels. I had finished my plate in no time hoping everyone would do the same but to my chagrin, there were those lingerers. Those peckers of food. You know the ones. They don’t normally eat anything but grass and 100 glasses of lemon water so when they have a real meal they push it around on their plate nibbling and complementing and eating a quarter of it while the rest of us behemoths want the damn desert. I could feel the gas gurgling and the perfect storm building to a crescendo.
I was breaking into a sweat now as the kiddies brought their bickering and fighting into the dining room spreading the joy. oh ahahaha yes they are so funny, not! and as I clenched my arse like an Olympic champion in the competition for arsenastics I asked the inevitable. Where was their bathroom?
Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t where I had hoped, logistically I wouldn’t have thought a bathroom next to the dining room was ideal but apparently the builders did. As I tried to walk normally to the bathroom I realized there was no going back or leaving. At this point, I had to go quietly. I fondly refer to it as poop miming, a talent I have almost perfected. I knew what was coming down the pipe, it wasn’t just the horn section it was a full-on orchestra. I sat and waited in position for the right decibel of laughter and as it did so did I. I waited again. God was with me as a fight broke out with the kids. The crying and the screaming of parents afforded me my chance and as I pushed with all my might, SUCCESS! and so it was done.
While I washed my hands the sound of flushing and the mesmerizing whir of the ceiling fan was music to my ears but when I turned there it was staring up at me swirling. Oh God, I thought, not that, anything but that. It waved at me taunting me almost to the brim but not going over. You bastard I thought. Not this girl, not this time. I knew every family with young children had a plunger and there under the sink jammed in the back with the garbage the bleach and the diaper genie, I reached in and grabbed my weapon of choice. so its to be swords, is it?
At three paces I raised my weapon, I thought I saw it quiver slightly as I set my steely gaze upon it. It looked back. The cheek. One, two three, in I went parry thrust and parry again and down it went. Defeated it slunk away. I was again the reigning champion. I quickly washed up to my elbows with the skill of a surgeon and straightened my outfit. With my head held high, I walked out.
” You’re just in time for dessert,” she said. “we’re having cheesecake.” Whats with her and the cheese, I thought. Alas, I felt compelled to take up that gauntlet and had some cheesecake too, knowing my trusty sword awaited me in the bathroom arena, around the corner from the dining room.
I realized yesterday that I was hiding a dirty little secret. It was dark and dingy like my dish towels. I have a shameful addiction. Hello, my name is Laura and I’m a McDonald’s monopolyoholic. It came to me last evening as I pulled up to the drive-thru with no hunger pains and my diet in a galaxy far far away.
“Can I have a small fry? ” I asked. But before she could answer, I cut her short.
Yelling in a blind panic, I said, ” Does that come with a Monopoly piece? ”
“No,” she said.
I was outraged.
“Does a cheeseburger?” I pleaded.
“No,” she said. I was going pale. “A pie, a large fry, a happy meal ?” I hoped beyond hope for a yes.
“No, ” she said.
I was screaming items off of the menu like a drill sergeant at training, straining my neck to see all the items of food ever made. Why oh why cant they give monopoly pieces for anything you buy, I thought. Oh the humanity.
I was adrift in despair.
“You can get a fillet o’ fish meal, ” she suggested. It was a life line to my future.
“I’ll take it,” I said as I sifted through my handbag looking for change, realizing I didn’t even want fillet o’ fish.
As I picked the last quarter off of the mat of my car, I thought I heard the soundtrack from Rocky playing ever so quietly. This was it! This would be the Monopoly piece that would win me the $150,000. The 1 in 9 gazillion thousand chance of winning was mine! I could almost taste the victory. I base this in reality of course.
As I reached for the bag, I threw the change on the counter and fished around for the fillet box and as I lifted it out, I made an astute observation. Nooooooo Monopoly pieces. I slowly turned into a bull about to charge and looked at little Cindy Lou Who from Whovlille and in a controlled voice said, “Wherrrreeee arrreee myyyy monopoly piecesssssss?”
She handed two to me, over the counter to my grasping hands.
“Thank you,” I said, sweetly reigning it in.
I quickly turned the corner and threw the fish out for the birds, screeching to a halt to painfully peel my board pieces off of the paper to reveal ….. a free sandwich. I was forlorn but then I had a thought. Is Outlander on tonight?
OMG ! Outlander: could they have more sex? I think not! Aren’t they middle aged? Doesn’t Claire need lubricant by now ? How many times will there be emergency surgery? Can’t they just have a quiet night in for a change? Drilling a hole in a man’s head in a brothel when you have already been tried as a witch, really Claire? What were you thinking? All I could think of was that you’re ruining perfectly good sheets. I think Jamie should spank her again. It begs another question, how much rum were they drinking back then? Oh to go back in time to eat, drink, be merry and have bad teeth. Yet I am addicted to watching. The never ending sexploits and sticky situations, it’s almost like a pornographic I love Lucy show. I confess that I have all the books sitting on my shelf, well read and begging for more. It’s like chocolate; bad for me but tastes ooooh so good. When’s the next episode?
I had stopped for lunch the other day and I was perusing the menu when the waitress brought a glass of water to the table. It wasnt any glass of water , it was a beautiful tepid tap water type of water, in a finger printy glass. I asked her could I get some ice for my ambrosia. I immediately realised my error as she suddenly turned to me with her Gollum like expression and said ” yes my precioussssss” . I began to panic as I wondered was she getting it out back from the ice truck chip chip chipping away for me, or perhaps she was waiting for the glaciers to melt and break away bringing lots of ice to the northern hemisphere. I began to think it was all to much when she returned with a generous helping of one ice cube. you can imagine my elation when she returned unscathed and so free with the ice in my cup. Oh happy day I thought! As I concluded my meal and enjoyed my extreme glass of water I contemplated something. The tip, my tip to her was …. GET ME SOME FREAKIN ICE! I say that with love.
Hey loser that got out of your truck because I honked at you …. duh you werent moving on the green Homer! oh and that uh car? of yours , makes you look like a cheer mom. When you got out to yell and flip the bird I could barely see you as the car door obscured your tiny head, and while we are on the subject of tiny , Mr microphallus take that finger of yours and …. well I dont need to tell you.