It didn't start well...

...when no one woke up on time. I don't usually NEED an alarm...mistake number one. The Nice Kid set her's by the bed, turned it off and didn't move again. The Not Nice Kid gets up when everyone else does one got up. The Big Boy was working from home for the day, and had another 30 minutes.

No biggie...there is a routine. Grabbed lunches, jerked on clothes, screamed about hair and teeth, found everything that was lost. Fought the morning traffic we don't NORMALLY fight because...OH YEAH...we leave early. TNK was late, but that's not my problem so I put her out and headed for the next school. TNNK was on time, if barely. I started out the back way home, waiting on my blood pressure to drop and thinking about how to build this stone retaining wall I have in my mind.

Phone rings. It's TNK, crying uncontrollably. "Come get me," she sobs. I panicked...we've been dealing with ovarian cysts in a child too young to have to worry about such.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she says. "I'm in the office. My dress is too short."

Well, hell. Turns out, she wants me to come get her and take her home. Since we live 30 minutes away, there's a good chance I won't make her go back. She's no dummy.

We argue it out for a minute, and finally I tell her: I'll be there in a minute. Going to WalMart to find you something to wear. FIFTY-FIVE minutes later, I am standing there in a panic. I have shirts. I have a camisole (dress code says no collarbones.) There is not a SKIRT in that store, and this child can't wear normal jeans...she and her dad have narrow hips and strong thighs. Jeans are a nightmare. Finally, I find a pair of men's lounging pants. Slinky cotton. I figure, with one of the over-the-hip shirts, we have an elegant ensemble.

Pull up to the school and call the office to send her out. I have on a ratty old zip-up hoodie, a pair of cotton gym shorts and flip-flops. Walking in to rescue my child who is OUT OF DRESS CODE didn't look like a good idea. She comes out, I show her what I've bought and her face crumples. "I can't WEAR these," she sobs over the lounging pants. "They're considered PAJAMAS."

Okay, I can handle this. There's another store up the road, I'll run in THERE and buy a skirt and be right back. She shows me the test she's just gotten 88 in Latin. Good job...the day's not a total loss. Skirt...I just need a skirt. Let's find a skirt.

Zip into Martin's parking lot and no, they don't open until ten o'clock. We already know WalMart doesn't have a skirt so...KMart it is. Please.

On a sale rack. $3.99. Cute swirly skirt she can wear to church. Fly back to the school. Bite the bullet and slip in the side door to the Attendance Office. Hand off the package. Slip back out and exit that parking lot for the THIRD time. (Here, I actually fished around under the seats for just ONE hot beer such luck. Probably a good thing because just then....)

The phone rings.

"You have my Latin test," hysterically. "I HAVE TO HAVE MY LATIN TEST."

I turned around and went back. Stood at the door and waited. Here she finally comes wearing...the original dress she wore to school. "The skirt is too tight, so I put the shirt on over it and they wouldn't let me wear it unless I tucked in the shirt and the skirt is too tight," she explains. "Never mind, I'll just hug the walls all day."

And she did.

(Okay. Here, we have two endings. You get to figure out which one really happened and if you are easily offended? Go away. I am NOT in the mood.)

#1...FINALLY, I start out of town. Phone rings but, it's The Big Boy. "You okay?" he asks. I explain the situation. I'm on my way home. I'll bring a biscuit. Everything will be okay. I sigh. He is commiserative.

When I walked in, he had the den picked up and the only bottle of champagne in the house open with a flute beside it. Filled the glass, shut the door and left me to drink my cares away while watching bad SciFi movies. I fell asleep about 11:30, no one else called and the house didn't burn down. Sometimes, things take care of themselves ;)

#2...Some dumbass woman on a cell phone got in the left lane in one corner of our state, and did 50 miles an hour all the way across this county. The truck driver in the herd didn't kill her, but he tried. She, however, remained oblivious.

I FINALLY pulled into my driveway just as I realized, THERE'S NO MILK. I can't eat without milk. But decided I didn't want it bad enough to go back out so I came on in and there...stood TBB. Waggling that thing at me and announcing, "Boy, do I have a treat for you!"

Services Friday.


City Girl said…
I just KNEW there was a killin' at the end of that story.
Comet Girl said…
...or at least a "jerkin'" and not the good kind ;o)