Another day, another story!
All of it. The clean underwear and the dirty underwear. The bad underwear and the Calvin Klein favorite underwear. Last night we came home and he had gotten into the trash and looked like this (Kevin stand in because he now has more hair and his eyes are much prettier and amber which makes it harder to scold him). I had a thought for just a second - Kevin might get into the trash if you leave it there but then I was trying to help mama out the door to the football game with her purse, her secret bag, my purse, and so forth and that's just more commotion than a brain can manage. I left the trash. I came home to this. But this is nothing compared to the destruction of my underwear.
You would think if you are down to two pairs of underwear and there is a pattern that you would recognize it and not do this again but not so. My life seems to run at LUDICROUS SPEED. Yes, ludicrous speed! So when I suddenly need to lock rescue dog Kevin in my room because he can be whack with his little odd wire loose and there is twenty seven and half people in the living room and some of them are small children screaming and running around with sharp things part of my little brain says - you know - it'd would be a good idea to lock Kevin the rescue in your bedroom. So I run upstairs with him and do that. The part of my brain that says - You know, he has eaten ten pairs of your underwear so you might just want to close your closet or move that basket of clean clothes somewhere else. NO! That part does not speak at all as I am running back down the stairs. It kicks in when I go up to let Kevin out and all the wild little wolf pack are gone and he is standing on a mountain of rags that were previously underwear with all the important middle parts in tact.
I want to yell BAD DOG!!! Very BAD Dog! But Kevin the Rescue has heartworms and is going through treatment and supposed to be taking it easy and I don't want to give him a heart attack even though right now he is sitting in the middle of all the destroyed underwear like he is Jackson Pollock and has gone on some wild, artistic binge liberating me from all my contraints and is darn proud of it - so I say, Yes, of course, this is all my fault. I should have prepared better for this moment.
Which led to the GRANNY PANTY incident.
I had a doctors appointment to follow up with my real doctor because I had gone to the local clinic when a forty eight hour virus tried to kill me and take me out of this world by making me throw up my toes while at the same time make me feel that eight gorillas were playing ping pong with my body as the ball and I went to clinic and climbed up on the table and the nurse turned the light out while I curled up on the table. She said she was keeping it out of my eyes but I think she was trying to ease the moment the doctor walked in and saw me so he didn't scream. So he says - Oh, MY! And I grunt something. And, he says when is the last time you felt this bad? I say Sixth Grade because It wasn't hard to remember the last time you felt that bad. And he says you are very sick and I'll give you a shot so that you can keep from throwing up your toes and send you home. And oh, by the way - you have also caught Bronchitis from taking care of your Mama so I will give you some horse pills. Just see if you can keep those bad boys down. Then I fell off the table and left my car in the parking lot because sister got off work and came to get me because I couldn't drive home.
Then I went to follow up with my regular Doctor like I was supposed to and I was getting dressed and went to get UNDERWEAR but they were all rather artistic at that point and since I wasn't trying to go on some kind of radical match.com date I thought I'd just go downstairs and borrow some clean undies from my Mom so I say Hey Mama - Kevin ate my underwear and she says AGAIN? and I say yes, and I think she is trying to tell me, You should put up your underwear . . . when I grab an old pair of hers that is white and stretched out and come up to my arms pits. And Then I go to the doctor on my lunch hour so they can pat me on the head and send me home.
The doctor says, I see, when I tell her about the virus and the bronchitis and the coughing and she says now - take off your clothes -all but your underwear and get on the table. I try to tell her this is not important and she just acts like a doctor and leaves the room like I will do what she says. So I take off my clothes and put on the paper and climb up on the table while she talks in the hall to a nurse about another patient for a looongggg time which she doesn't normally do but I keep thinking - well, that person must be very sick and even though I am on my lunch hour and really in a hurry I will be patient so I sit on the table cross legged Indian style with the paper around me and I realize at that moment I am wearing white granny panties that come up to my armpits and bag around my drethers and that I want the doctor to not think I just don't care anymore that I haven't given up all hope of romance. But then she comes in with her scope and tells me to breath and breath some more and in and out breathing and I almost pass out so she says - Let's take a break. So I stop breathing. And then I breath some more and she tells me I have Pneumonia and she is giving me STRONGER HORSE PILLS. And because I find out that I have PNEUMONIA which my grandmother always said - then you will get the Pneumonia and die. No one in my grandmothers lifetime ever seemed to get the Pneumonia and survive I realize that I could die with my mother's granny panties on and it's all because I rescued Kevin and he eats all my underwear.
And I was late for work so I forgot to tell my doctor about this and I'm sure now she thinks I just don't care.
For those of you who know me and Cousin Debbie Register and also our history of getting into trouble together for all of our lives - I have to tell you that we are planning MATCHING TAT'S in April when she arrives on vacation Because we are old enough to be stupid in a whole new way. Most people also know we are as different as the sun and moon so agreeing on a tattoo is another thing. Which I THOUGHT we had done but now she is shifting her perspective on me.
A brief history:
Trouble. Deb and I have gotten into trouble all of our lives. The kind of trouble that cousins who are best friends can get into. That's the stupid kind. Not being bad but just being like Lucy and Ethel although I'd like to think of us more along the romantic Thelma and Louise types - It's def more Lucy and Ethel.
So for years we have decided to mark one thing or the other by getting a tattoo. Let's just do it, She'd say. And I'd say sure, sure. But of course we didn't. Then we put in at some point to get identical tats and since we are so different that didn't happen and then deciding on where to put them was another personal choice all of which has kept us for fifty years from getting inked. But we are old enough now to be full tilt stupid.
Deb decided when she read about the Phoenix bird and all its symbolism that we both really needed a phonenix. I said - fine. Then she started looking at pictures of the Phoenix. Her reactions were classic Deb. Hand to head, frown. Her exuberance replaced by concern.
What's the problem?
This is a very ugly bird. That neck, I mean, It looks like a snake. I don't think I can do this.
That was about three years ago or more and so that has certainly iced the ink move. In the meantime I came up with a tattoo of my own that I wanted - The Celtic knot that symbolizes The Trinity so that I could always remind myself in times of trouble - Look, girl -This is what you believe. Don't forget that. But I never got around to that as well. I do good to have clean underwear so having a tat just hasn't been on my to do list.
ENTER - Deb's vacation and her finding a Phoenix tattoo that is more impressionist and feminine. Okay. So we will just do it.
SIDEBAR- DEB has ABSOLUTELY NO TOLERANCE FOR PAIN. None. Zilch. If she has a fever you would think she just caught swine flu. If she stubs her toe it's a major affair. Mine almost cut off - She doesn't even pay attention as she chases a wasp because she is afraid it will STING HER and she will be rushed to the hospital.
Okay - So apparently getting a Tattoo is not a PAINLESS event. She swears she is going first and won't back out. When I told my sons one said - Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it because Deb won't do it. And the other laughed and laughed at the mere thought. He said if they are going to be matching it will be really small because it will be one dot. That's all they'll get done on Deb before she screams and backs out.
Deb could make some money on this because everyone is betting a) She won't do it. and B) she really won't do it.
All I know to do is report back in April. I pushed her out of tree over a river once when she changed her mind at the top and wanted to go back down. Then in all fairness I jumped in after her. If she backs out of this I don't think the tattoo artist will let me hold her down on the table. But I'm committed now. This story has been fifty years in the making. She turns chicken - I'm getting that Celtic knot.
What's the story in your world?
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