Well Happy New Year people of the world! All I can say is that Mayans don’t know shit from shinola.
The number 2013 looks really weird to me. Maybe because it’s getting a lot further (further? farther? these two trip me up unlike other faux pas akin to they’re, their and there) from my personal milestone years like 1965, 1983, 1987, 1990, 1999, 1924. Yeah- you read it correctly- 1924- the year the Babushka was born. I know this because I almost used her birthday the other day when I was using her credit card.
Ok, don’t let your innards get all cattywampus because you think I am some crappy daughter who steals an octogenarian’s credit card.
I have freshly returned from new adventures in the Wild and Wonderful. Poor Captain Parmenter didn’t know what hit him when I savagely introduced him to big ass mountains (tough on the little four cylinder loaded with presents including one cutting board shaped like West Virginia) and potholes the size of the Mack trucks used to fill them.
The trek there was HELLISH. Columbus to Zanesville (that’s Ohio folks) was ten miles an hour in a heavy snowstorm that needed to exert its meteorological testosterone with forty mile an hour wind gusts. The Kid was not with me since the FH carted him to the WV a couple days ahead of this noxious weather. I was both sad and thankful- he would have been great company, but I was so happy he was not sharing this wintery mess. I managed to slide down the last hill, cross a frosty Ohio River and deliver myself to the Babushka’s icy street. Noodles and mushrooms and beer were waiting for me. Ah, home.
The holidays were immensely fun. My Kid does not play fair in a snow ball fight. I suppose it was an honest response since I tackled him from behind, but he was vicious as I tried to remove enough snow from my eyeglasses so I could see where my brother was plowing and not become a hideous Christmas tragedy.
We watched old Christmas movies that had people wearing fur that wasn’t pelted with red paint and wholesome girls drinking buttermilk. A Holiday Affair was a new one for me- Robert Mitchum was pretty dreamy in his day, but Janet Leigh wore the most amazing bras!
“Ok Mom you really need to stop talking about her boobs.”
“But look at them!! They are SO pointy! I wonder what my boobs would look like in a bra like that?”
“Oh god Mom please stop.”
Seriously- these boobs were like three dimensional isoceles triangles- isoceles cones, perhaps? I don’t know- geometry gave me an ulcer. I need to find one of these bras.
And moving on… so what is a jaunt out into public without a wonderful conversation with a stranger.
I ran all of the Babushka’s errands for her before I packed up and headed south. It was cold, icy, and windy. I was dressed so appropriately for the North that I impressed even myself.
I walked up to the pharmacy counter in blessed Rite Aid with its shelves all stocked with beautiful alcoholic libations…when a voice…
“Wow! You really look like you are in a lot of pain.”
I turned to see who uttered this completely weird observation. A man, of course. A woman wouldn’t be as terse and unfeeling. Tall, blond, blue eyes, no ring on left hand, but an idiot because he just blurted out that my countenance exhibited PAIN.
I paused for a moment and then leaned in to him and said…
“You know, that was not a compliment.”
“What?”
“I mean, if you are testing your pick up lines, I would not say a girl looks like she is in pain. Just a piece of advice…”
He looked at me like I was the one from Mars.
“Well, you are walking kind of stiff and you have that giant scarf around your neck.”
I concurred- I was wearing boots that weighed about two cinder blocks and a scarf you could have used as a rope bridge.
Good lord Madam Pharmacist, please fill the Babushka’s nerve pills and recommend a cough medicine so I can leave this place before tall, blonde, and stupid tells me I look like I require some sort of palliative treatment.
So, as I was trying to decide between something tussin-y and something knock your ass outy I hear behind my shoulder…
“I’ve had a cold for a week.”
So as if my pained look wasn’t enough, he needed to follow me to the cough and cold aisle to inform me of his viral nature.
“I’ve taken this one (he points) and this one and this one and this one…”
“I suggest alcohol as your next resort.”
“I drank half a bottle of Crown on Christmas Day.”
“Ah, with family, were you?”
And so he continued his list of all the remedies he had tried over the last week and all I could focus on was the fact that I was about to lose my blue jeans right on the Rite Aid floor because I don’t own a belt and while you would think my ample waist could anchor a pair of jeans, it couldn’t and I could feel butt crack within a c-hair of being exposed.
“Well, you get to feeling better and work on those pick up lines.”
As I was making my purchases, the moment arrived when I almost used the Babushka’s birthday as my own because I was using her credit card.
“You need my birthday for cough syrup?”
“Yeah this is one of them they make meth with.”
“Gross. Why can’t they pop open a beer like the rest of us.”
The cashier agreed with me and said, “Yeah or just fire up a joint.”
“I’m with you. No one ever blew up their house lighting a joint.”
She shook her head in agreement and wished me a Happy New Year.
Tall, blonde, and stupid was still in the cough and cold aisle contemplating his next pick up line…
“Wow, you really look contagious…”
PS. Maybe calling him stupid wasn’t very nice, but I need another cup of coffee and I don’t feel like backtracking and substituting a synonym for stupid that doesn’t sound as mean- spirited. Maybe…
lacking in cognitive social skills at West Virginia pharmacy…
I need to think on this one.
Happy New Year People of the World!!
