Oh the Humiliation...

Travis took the Jeep to work today, so I had to use the truck. And I use the term "truck" very loosely. It's more akin to something that Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy, and a whole host of "Bubbas" and "Cooters" would collaborate on in order to materialize their dream vehicle. It's a Ford 1 Ton with hydraulic hay forks, a grill guard the size of Manhattan, and an ELEVEN FOOT flat bed. It's kind of embarrassing to drive this behemoth. Partially because when we fire it up for a trip home, my parents can hear it all the way in Mount Vernon. I'm also scared of unwittingly driving over Smart cars, tandem bicycles, and small apartment complexes. But, since I lost the smack down between my Mazda6 and that Ford Expedition, the truck is my new means of transportation. Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful that we had two other vehicles besides my car. Getting up at 6:30 in the morning and dragging Avery out of bed to take Travis to work in our solo vehicle would not have been fun......at all. So, I realize that our monster truck is a blessing, albeit in a very loud and gas-guzzling disguise. So anyways, I went to run errands today and when I opened the door to reach the drive-through canister at the bank, the door handle broke clean off. Okay, okay, not a huge deal. The part is cheap and it's something Travis can easily fix. So, I roll down the window to open the door with the outside handle. Yeah, not happening. I tried as hard as I could without making a scene. I was unsuccessful at that tactic, so there was no way I was going to be reaching that canister in order to get my deposit receipt out. Thankfully the "call" button was within my reach, so I had to call the teller and shame-facedley ask her to zip that canister right back up and just shred the receipt for me since I couldn't reach it. So we went on to do the grocery shopping. I was able to get out through Avery's side without too much embarrassment. We got our shopping done, loaded up the floor board to the gills with our groceries, and went merrily on our way. When I got home, my next door neighbor was sitting outside. I was not thrilled at the fact that she was going to see my shimmy over and out through the passenger side, but what are ya gonna do. But then I looked over and saw all those groceries packed up to Avery's feet, and realized that I was trapped...in my own driveway. I tried to wrestle my door open through the window in the most lady-like manner possible. Nothing. So, I just sat there for a while trying to send my neighbor a mental message to go back in her house. But that wasn't happening. She had herself a magazine and, by the looks of it, was nowhere near through reading it. I know you are probably wondering why I didn't just call over to her and ask if she would be so kind as to open my door for me, and then afterwards we'd just laugh about it over tea and scones. The thing is, my neighbor only stays at that house a few weeks out of the year. It was her dad's house, and since he passed away, they only come and stay a few days at a time to keep it clean and check on everything. And I only know that much because Travis has talked to her. That's right, I've never spoken to the woman. I just couldn't have our first conversation be premised on my being trapped in my own vehicle. A few minutes went by, Avery was starting to ask to get out, and my yogurt was starting to get tepid. I kept waiting for my neighbor to go inside so that I could manhandle that door like a Sumo wrestler. But unfortunately, the weather was just too lovely and that magazine was just too intriguing. So I tried to steel myself for the inevitable: I was going to have to climb out the window. But first, I decided to give the door one more try, so with a desperate prayer to be saved from humiliation, I reached out the window and squeezed the handle as hard as I could. It easily opened, and I was able to walk out with my pride.Yeah......unfortunately, that is not how it went down. The door did open, but not until after I flew forward with the momentum from pushing and smacked myself square in the face with the door frame. I am unaware if my neighbor saw this fiasco, because I refused to look at her. I know that is extremely unfriendly, but if she did see, then I like to think that I saved us both some embarrassment: mine because of my face plant, and hers because of the hysterical laughter she would have had to try and hide had I approached her for some neighborly chatter. Maybe she was having a really bad day and God used my humiliation to give her a laugh and brighten her spirits. Yes.....yes, that's what I'm going to tell myself.

A Little Laughter To Help Get You Through Your New Year's Dieting...

It was Halloween 2007 (long before I met my hubby). I had recently come through a very difficult few years: I had lost both of my precious grandmothers to cancer, my fiancee informed me that we needed some time apart (which, literally translated, meant that he needed to move 2,000 miles away and never talk to me again), and I had recently quit working in one of your average, run-of-the-mill den of vipers.  I had a new job, new friends, and a new outlook on life.  Things were finally going my way.  The only thing missing in this great new life of mine was the adorable  local store manager who daily came into the bank where I now worked.

 I was the assistant manager at our branch, and I rarely used this to my advantage.....except when Eric came in to do his store deposit.  Whenever I saw him coming, I usually decided that would be a good time for the tellers to clean the break room, do coin inventory, or restock the snack supply.  Making myself the only person ever available to help him may not have seemed fair to the other tellers, but they were all young with their whole lives in front of them.  I , on the other hand, had nothing but a slightly psychotic crush and ovaries full of eggs with an expiration date akin to that box of flan my mother had, for unknown reasons, brought with her when we moved from California fifteen years prior.  Needless to say, the best part of my day occurred when Eric walked up to my station.  He had thick brown hair, some seriously luscious lips, and gorgeous light green eyes that usually managed to coax some drool out of my watering mouth.  When he smiled at me, I wet my pants a little.   I felt like a sixth grader at a Bieber concert whenever he came around.  In my defense, he was very flirtatious with me.  He was always making these shrouded comments to me that I know had a hidden meaning.  Things like "have a good day", or "can I have some twenties for these ones?"  Oh yeah, he was crushing on me HARD.  I would often find myself stalking him at the store where he worked.  "Eric? Hi! I can't believe I ran into you here looking so raggedy. I'm sooooo embarrassed!"  Of course I only showed up there after I had spent hours shopping for a new outfit, telling that lady at the Clinique counter that yes of course I was interested in forty dollar mascara just to get a free makeover, and tousling and teasing my hair to give it just the right amount of  "sexy bedhead."     

So, back to Halloween.  I was dressing up as a 70's disco diva and had found the perfect retro shirt at a thrift store. It was a little bit too small, so I had this great idea to sew in some funky material panels on both sides to make it a little more roomy.  My little town didn't have a fabric store, so I went to Eric's store to try and find something.  I looked and looked, but I just couldn't come up with anything.  On the way out, some sparkly turquoise fabric caught my eye.  Turns out, it was a pair of panties the size of Alaska on steroids.  These were the kind of panties that, in an emergency situation, could easily double as a shelter or a parachute.  And they were made of the perfect material to cut up and sew into my Halloween costume! I looked up at the checkout counter and saw that a young girl was running the register, so I grabbed two pair of the colossal undergarments and ran to the counter, praying the whole time that Eric wasn't working that night.  I made it to the counter, had my money out, and darted my eyes suspiciously around the store while the cashier rang up the panties.  And then it happened. In slow motion, I saw her reach for the intercom microphone.  The words that came out of her mouth may as well have been my death sentence: "Eric, I need a price check on aisle one!"  He walked over, and as I saw him lifting those enormous panties high in the air trying to find the tag in the billowing folds of fabric, I knew that anything we may have had was gone.  After an eternity of awkward silence, I managed to squeak out "those aren't for me, you know...they are just for a costume."  I admit, I have a little junk in my trunk, so I wasn't surprised when his look said "uh-huh, riiiiiiiiiiiiiight."  I left the store red-faced and shamed.  Eric never really talked to me much after that.  But I rocked that disco outift, panty panels and all.