I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: August 2010

Potty break = Fail

So I was gonna write about the lady who felt herself up while talking to me in Big Lots the other day.  But something else happened before I could get to that.  As far as disturbing goes, it’s really hard to top a grown woman grabbing her boobs and jiggling them up and down all while talking to a complete stranger, but for me, this does.

This morning Cooper and I resumed our Monday morning Wal-Mart trips.  Everything was going just like it always did.  We got some popcorn chicken, considered the popsicles and ended up choosing the same ones we always do, and smelled all the bubble baths until we found the best scent.  It was great fun.  When he’s in a good mood, Cooper is fabulous company.  When he’s in a bad mood, the sky darkens, sinkholes appear, and birds drop out of the sky plucked and charred. But that’s another post altogether.

This morning one major thing was different from the last time we had a regular school schedule.  Cooper is no longer wearing a diaper or having accidents.  Mostly.  Today there was an accident.  He ended up covered in pee.  And… it was pretty much my fault.

It was 8:35 and I was down to four items on my list.  I was silently congratulating myself for the speedy shopping trip, when everything ground to a halt.  Cooper said those words that all mamas hate to hear in public: I have to pee.  Let’s face it.  NO ONE likes to use public restrooms, but when you have to take your child into one, the dislike intensifies to revulsion.

So we went to the back of the store because they have a “family bathroom.”  I like these better than the ladies room because they have the tiny little toilets that only kids can use.  Knowing that no one took a grow-up sized dump in it or dealt with other adult hygiene issues on that toilet makes it easier for me to let my little one use it.  However, its still a public potty.  Just a very tiny one.

So Cooper went pee-pee in the potty and we clapped and danced and all the shit you do to make your kid stop wanting to wear diapers.  But, we didn’t flush because it was an automatic flusher.  Big mistake.

I guess automatic flushers don’t always recognize when little boys have peed in the potty, so it didn’t flush.  I was going to manually flush it, but I wanted to pull up his pants first.  When I went to pull up his shorts, I grabbed his belt loops and this lifted him off the ground instead of just pulling his shorts up.  That caused him to fall forward at the waist right toward the potty.  I was certain he was going face first into the piss filled bowl, but he stuck his right hand out to catch himself and it went into the bowl instead.  I was instantly relieved that he hadn’t smashed his face into a public toilet, but my relief turned to horror when I realized his open hand hitting the toilet had caused the contents to splash all over him.  His shirt was soaked, his face was wet, there were even drops clinging to his hair.  My baby was covered with Wal-Mart pee water.

I died for just a second.

Then I smiled and said, “Oops!  Let’s dry you off.”  I scrubbed his hands and face with soapy water.  Then I quickly bought the last four items on my list, went through the check-out, sped home, and threw the frozen stuff & milk into the fridge.  Then I drew him a nice big bath with his brand new bubbles.

He’s fine and hasn’t even mentioned it again.  I’m traumatized and will never again allow him to leave the house without using the potty.  Twice.

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The other day I murdered a braless lady

One day last week, I took the boys out for a fast food lunch.  We are all trying to eat healthier, but sometimes a kid just needs to eat some crap and climb around in plastic tubes for a while.  Because we were just going to McDonald’s, I didn’t take any special care with my appearance.

That means I didn’t shower, was wearing at least one thing I slept in, and my hair may not have been brushed.  Basically, I looked like I look right now.  Here I’ll take a picture…

Yeah, so I look like hell a lot of the time.  Whatever.

I’m sitting there reading while my kids burn off their empty calories and get those preservatives and additives well distributed in their cells so a few can mutate into cancer in forty years, when a lady stops by my table.  Now, I like to talk to strangers, but I don’t like them invading my space or touching me, my kids, or my stuff.  This lady leans over me and rests her saggy right boob on my left shoulder.  Then she grabs my favorite bookmark which was handmade by Jack in kindergarten.

“Oh how sweet.  I’ll bet you treasure this,” she said.

“Yes, I do,” I replied, barely resisting the urge to snatch it from her.  Actually, I didn’t really resist, I was momentarily paralyzed by the shock of her unfettered breast touching my person.

“Those boys, sure are cute.  Are you their mom or grandma?”

*blink*

*blink blink*

*blink blink blink*

Several more moments of blinking pass before I have fully processed what she said.

Then I clicked my dentures, adjusted my wig, grabbed my cane and beat her to death with it.

Job Hunting for Schmucks

I’m not sure how it happened, but around 11 a.m. today, Tony and I found ourselves alone in the house with nothing to do.  Because he travels frequently and I usually have a child or two requiring my attention, this is a rare occurrence.  Of course we did what any healthy, young, married couple would do.  We went to the movies.

That’s not a euphemism.

We saw Dinner for Schmucks.  On the drive home we discussed the movie.  I felt it was silly, but in a good way.  Tony was bothered that the title is “Dinner for Schmucks”, yet they never refer to the dinner as such.  They call it “the dinner” or “dinner for idiots”, but I don’t recall hearing the word schmuck even once during the movie.  This didn’t bother me until he pointed it out.  Now it’s driving me nuts.  Damn mind control.

When we got home we did what any healthy, young, married couple would do.  We went to our respective computers and checked our email.

Again, not a euphemism.

I was delighted to continue my schmuck themed day with this inbox gem.  It’s an actual cover letter that accompanied a real resume submitted by a legitimate job seeker earlier today.  I can’t say who sent it on to me, because I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I promise it’s not fabricated.

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