I would really like to blog about my conversation with my BRAND NEW
FRIEND that I met at Big Ray’s funeral today, but he was a bit stodgy
about the whole blogging thing and practically made me swear that I
would not mention him or any likeness of him that may be discovered by
some random person in some random area of the world that will be
brought up to him in conversation at a later date. For a person in a
profession that requires a “look at me, look at me” attitude, I think I
might even find that remotely refreshing.
I could also blog
about the ants in my mother’s house because they are worthy of their
own story/recognition. Right now I have the minutest ant running up and
down my arm. I can feel him but he is too fast and I have wasted too
much energy slapping skin unproductively.
I could blog about the
little incident on the playground when an unidentified family member
was so excited about being on the mile-high slide that he/she failed to
go to the bathroom and just pooped in his/her pants. And then went down
the slide, which led to an epic mess. After a long (and might I say
VERY drawn out saga), the underwear ended up in the trash can. In case
anyone is wondering, it was not me….
So I guess I’ll settle for
last night’s drama. To set the story up properly, the Boo Boo Kitty,
after a miserable time last week of
the Boo is living La Vida Loca because he is at Marmie’s house this
week. Marm doesn’t have a crib and Mom decided she wasn’t going to lug
one more thing on the plane, like a crib, so now he gets to sleep
directly against Mom, like a Boo sandwich, all night long, GDI. In
Mom’s bed from high school. Which sags toward the middle precariously
for anyone in it since it is like 20 years old.
All was right with the world.
3 am last night. When I awakened soaking wet in a pool of only God
knows what. Oh my God, did I wet the bed? I don’t think I have wet the
bed in around 30 years. I think. Anyway, I think Derek could verify
that I haven’t wet the bed in the last year and a half, at least.
I am soaked and there is so much damn pee that it had to have been me.
Except that I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Wouldn’t I feel
relief if I had already peed? I looked at the baby. He’s only 14 lbs.
Could he have peed that much? I mean, really. There was so much pee
that he would have had to, like, pee forever to wet this bed this good.
This probably wouldn’t have happened if I had just listened to
my mother and used the bigger diapers she bought instead of being my
cheap-ass, unemployed self, determined to use up every damn diaper I
have, since I only have to buy around 6,000 more before this kid stops
peeing on me.
If my BRAND NEW FRIEND, whom shall remain
nameless, has found this blog, I hope he is thinking that our
conversation today regarding American culture would have been a much
more appropriate read than this and that he knows that this is all his
OK, not true. I would have written about the pee anyway. It was a life-altering experience.Share on Facebook