Monday, May 25, 2015

This Was My Memorial Day Weekend

Memorial Day weekend is supposed to be the kick off to summer, but ours was a weekend of rain upon rain upon rain. Then it rained some more. Here's my weekend, in a nutshell:

My husband stood out in the rain and grilled chicken for us for supper. He must have really wanted grilled chicken, because I don't think we were worth it otherwise.

I ran to the store BEFORE it started raining for a few things for supper. Of course, it was pouring when I left the store. I had four bags of food (well, and dish soap) that I lugged to the car rather than pushing it in a cart, because I thought I would stay drier that way. I thought incorrectly, as I couldn't walk very fast with four heavy bags on my arms, plus whether I was pushing a cart or not, I had to slosh through rivers of rainwater in my flip flops.

I loaded the bags in the van behind the driver's seat, because our doors aren't automatic and that seemed to be the best way to get myself completely drenched while putting the bags in the car. Complete success.

I pulled up as close as I could to the carport when I got to the house (my husband's car was inside the carport, rat bastard), but it was still raining buckets, I was already wet and didn't want to get wetter, so I torqued and twisted and successfully got three of the bags of groceries from behind the driver's seat to the front. The fourth bag proved to be a problem, as a jar of Miracle Whip rolled out and stopped between the back seat and the sliding door. my options were to get out of the car, stand in the driving rain, yank the sliding door open (it's not an easy task on a  GOOD day) and catch the jar as it rolled out the door, or get on my knees in the driver's seat and reach around to the bag and grab the jar. I opted for Plan B, which would have worked beautifully had my arm been about a foot longer.

The Joplin tornado was four years ago Friday. Ever since then, I have had two pieces of broken ballet barre from the destroyed dance studio where my daughter used to dance on the floor of the van behind the front seats. I kept meaning to take them in the house, but they became handy when I found out I could use one of them to lock the back passenger door by reaching behind the seat and hitting the lock with the end of the barre (my son broke the automatic part of the lock about a year after we got the van, and we never had it repaired). When I found out I couldn't reach the Miracle Whip, even kneeling in the front seat and reaching as far as I could, I put the ballet barre to work. It only took me about 10 minutes, beginning to end, and if that barre would have curved, it would have cut that time down to about 30 seconds, but I got that jar without standing in the rain, by golly, and only wrenched my shoulder, got a stitch in my side, and a charlie horse in my calf as I wrestled for the jar. Then I opened the car door, stepped out with the bags, and got drenched walking the four feet from the car to the carport.  Sigh.

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My son, the College Boy, didn't think my daughter and I were very good at sharing the bathroom counter while we were there:

Nahhhh.


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We drove home from the lake house late this afternoon, after a nice weekend away (and one where I was - and still am - near death from the cold named Linda). We had three cars, as we all came from three different places (long story, boring, and not worth telling), so my son drove one car and I drove another with my daughter riding shotgun. My husband stayed at the lake house for another night (part of the boring story as to why we had to have three cars transport us to the lake house). This proved to be a mistake on his part.

My son's vehicle needed gas, so our caravan of two stopped at the next town, about 30 miles down the road. While he pulled up to the gas pump, I pulled up to the convenience store to get a Diet Coke, because The Cold Named Linda is making me exceedingly dry. I walked into the convenience store only to find out the did not have Diet Coke at the fountain, so I walked out again, because NO, DIET PEPSI IS NOT OKAY. My son thought my tires looked a little low, so while his car filled with gas, he got the tire gauge out and checked the tires. As he did that, I glanced around for the air pump and saw it around the side of the building and currently blocked by a Krispy Kreme delivery truck. My son pronounced the tires "good enough," and as he started to head back to his car, the Krispy Kreme delivery guy walked up to me and handed me a GINORMOUS SACK with three boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts inside. THAT'S THREE DOZEN DOUGHNUTS. 



"Would you like to have these? Several of the stores on my route are closed because of the holiday," he said, and after my mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a halibut, I said, "Yes! Thank you!" I got in the car and gleefully handed my booty over to my daughter (who had not budged out of her seat or lifted her head from her phone the entire time we were at the gas station, and this is important). My son pulled up next to me, and I handed him an entire box, and we hit the road. 

My daughter only somewhat jokingly said, "He must have given them to us, because he saw me in the front seat and thought I was cute."

"He could't even SEE you in the front seat," I replied. "And he gave them to ME."

We wasted little time calling my husband to tell him about our windfall.

"Are you KIDDING me? The ONE TIME I don't ride back with you, and you get FREE KRISPY KREME DOUGHNUTS?!" was his response.

When we got home, my son and I stood in the kitchen and discussed the merits of each (remaining) doughnut in the three boxes (we may have eaten a couple of them during the drive home). 

"That was really nice of that guy to give us the doughnuts," I said. "How cool is it to have someone give you three dozen Krispy Kremes?! Of course, Emma thinks he did it because she was cute."

"He did it because he saw me checking the air in your tires," my son said. "He was rewarding me for being a good Samaritan."

"He gave the doughnuts to ME. Did it occur to anyone that maybe he gave them to me because he thought I was HOT? That he thought I was a MILF?"

And I tried not to wish my son would choke just a little on the doughnut he was eating as he laughed and laughed and laughed....




15 comments:

  1. It's kind of hard to beat free donuts! Both my boys would have laughed and laughed too, and then I would have been forced to feed them my crappiest cooking for the week.

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    1. Not just ANY free doughnuts. KRISPY KREME'S! And let's remember who the guy handed the doughnuts. ME! It was ME!

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  2. You make me smile. That is all.

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    1. That's not the same as laughing at me, is it?!

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  3. Hmmmmm I think you can accept MILF status if there were other women around to compare with and he decided that you were the fanciest ;)

    Otherwise...it might be that you were the only people around and the other stores were closed for the holiday.

    *chokes to death on a dougnut*

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  4. I like you so much. If I were male or a lesbian and drove KK delivery truck, I would consider you a MILF.

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    1. It means the world to me that you would consider me a MILF under those parameters.

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  5. Definitely MILF. My children had to tell me what that meant. They didn't actually tell me (they were too embarrassed), they told me to look it up in the Urban Dictionary. LOL Now Dyanne, I would have parked the car with the groceries and texted someone inside the house to come out with an umbrella and escort me and the groceries in. Maybe not. Maybe I'd just clomp in, soaking wet, and drop the groceries on the kitchen floor, spiting myself, because for sure, I'm the one who would have to clean it up. But I'd feel so much better passive-aggressively. At least there were doughnuts.

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    1. Urban Dictionary has come to my rescue many times! My kids are usually pretty blunt, though, and tell me what I need to know if I ask. I don't like to ask, however, because then I become a joke on Twitter. And yes, I could have insisted someone come out and help me, because not one of them was doing anything other than watching tv (we don't have cable at home, so we tend to OD on it when it's available, like those kids who never get sugar), but then I wouldn't have a good story :) And the doughnuts make it all good.

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  6. I've never had a Krispy Kream. True confessions.

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    1. I feel it necessary to add that you would be definite MILF material with my kids crowd.

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    2. Krispy Kremes are darn fine doughnuts, but in all honesty, there's a place here in town that makes better ones (and we don't have any chain doughnut stores of any kind here, anyway).
      Thank you for bolstering my potential to be a MILF.

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