Or married to a guy. Or were ever a teenager who knew a guy.
This whole weekend was a TF. We came and went and fetched and carried and I STILL have a hayride next Saturday night for about 150 people. Not to mention, the one-legged cousin is leaving the nursing home and going back to his apartment with hospice Friday...so he has to have all new things. I can do this. She says.
ANYWAY. Last night the new puppy freaked out in the middle of the night and climbed onto The Nice Kid's nightstand and...pooped and pissed all over creation. He made a mess. And when TNK woke up, she freaked out. Not freaked out, but FREAKED OUT. At one thirty. In the morning. We were out of people to freak out but the two of them? They compensated.
So this morning, with no sleep, TNK had to stay home from church because of the head snuffles, and The Not Nice Kid had to go to church to atone for the last two weeks of messin' up. And THEN, there was A Birthday Party.
Honey, if you don't have kids then you don't know the misery other parents can inflict on you in the guise of birthday parties. Country Girl has birthday parties? She invites whole families, feeds them and urges them to bring coolers. Other people? Invite your child into the germ-hole from hell and expect you to stay there and baby sit.
I don't think so.
So I dropped off TNK to chaperone (I paid) and TNNK to party. And went to WalMart because I had to have cold medications for the inmates, in triplicate, and I can't afford them anywhere else.
It's just me, I have a cart, and I have a list. I am standing in front of hair gels, contemplating the selection OF WHICH I AM CLUELESS, when this party of teenagers come around the corner. Maybe five kids, maybe four. I never looked. I'm trying to read labels without my glasses when I hear one of the girls says, "CRAIG. OMG." The boys start laughing and the girl says, "CRAIG. OMG. You are sick," and they take their cart around the corner and....And I'm smiling remembering when I was a teenager and we were pooling change for gas when...
...son of a fucking bitch. It hit me. A WALL of intestinal gas worthy of the nastiest guy on the planet. If that boy wasn't at the Mexican restaurant last night, he should have been. I was ALL THE WAY DOWN THE AISLE and I got smacked. My eyes watered, my nose shut down and I quit breathing and honey...those boys were hooting. The girls were mortified, the guys were laughing and...I started looking for the crafts section on the assumption...KIDS DON'T DO CRAFTS. I hated to just scoot out of there, obviously overcome with bodily function OVERLOAD, but that air was hurtin' me. So I scooted down a bit (I really DID need hair gel), and I'll be damned if that cloud didn't follow me. And just as I'm getting to the corner, I hear the kids in the next aisle and the girl bursts out again, "THIS IS NOT FUNNY. OMG. CRAIG!!!!"
And then they proceeded to work their way up and down each aisle, farting that boy's way through the cosmetics. It was UNBELIEVABLE. Horribly, disgustingly, repulsively....teenager hysterical...the funniest thing I have seen since I was twelve.
And since The Big Boy sits around here, passing gas and blaming it on a dog who's been dead for five years, I didn't tell this immediately. But after a while...I got to thinking about the humour situation in this family and when I told this story? They are still rolling in the floor. They cracked up and then cracked up again. They laughed and they called their friends and then they ran next door to tell the neighbors.
Thank you, Lord, for the fact that I don't find this funny. Of all my shortcomings, the fact that I don't like this is one of the few redeeming qualities I think I'll cling to.