weekend Tale – Wipe Out
My Weekend Party started as soon as I finally decided to leave work Friday evening.
As I fire up my Xterra in the parking lot I see the red indicator light come on reminding me I need to get gas. I head to the nearest place around. A massive self-service, round-robin style gas station. You know where there is one way in and one way out. The place is hopping as I get in line at the pumps. Next thing I know I am Cock-blocked.
Cock A, in a little white Volvo in front of me, has just finished getting gas. Cock B, is in a Mercedes, and pulled in behind me.
Cock A wants me to back-up because he, for reasons known to himself and himself only, has decided instead of simply pulling forward to the right and ’round to the exit, wants to go out of the entrance. Cock B wants me to pull forward because he is obviously late-for-a-date, and wants me to hurry up and get my gas so he can get his.
So both start hollering and beeping. Why? I don’t know. Because clearly I could neither pull forward, nor back-up. Being the bitch in the big truck I do for a moment consider engaging my 4-wheel drive and climbing over Cock A. It is proven fact that my truck can climb. Just ask every local merchant with a drive-thru, as somehow I have managed to end up on the their curb and/or median even without 4-wheeling it.
Welll, at just over 8 weeks post-op, I am almost back to my old self again, and no longer a raging, hormonal lunatic. So instead, I opt to let the cocks rock it out. I turn off my ignition. Grab my keys. Get out of the truck, lean up against my driver’s door and wait. Smiling and twirling my keys. Cock A soon realizes the game is up, and leaves via the exit. Of course, by this point, quite a line has backed up behind myself and Cock B. Silly boys!
I finally arrive home, but find I am blocked again. A booby-trap has been created by a tree which snapped in half at the far back corner of my yard, beyond the gate where I take my dogs to the bathroom. A casuality of a storm which hit while I was at work. A maze of branches for us to now walk around and between:
Last Fall’s hurricane wiped out not only our neighbors property, but a good portion of my fence. We have just recovered from that disaster, as have they.
Fortunately, Saturday when I awake it is a beautiful, glorious day. The sun is shining brightly so I am very happy when we head out on Mission Yellow. Have to get my boy Yellow-Fellowed up for Camp. Once we reach the store, we head directly to the T-shirt section to pick out his size, and there it happens:
My boy looks straight past the T-shirts, and picks up a pack of ribbed tank T’s. He tells me these are what he wants. Is this shit genetic? These are the same freaking tanks his father would wear all the time, and this is the second time my son has asked to wear them. In fact two years ago, at my oldest daughter’s High School graduation party, one of my girlfriend’s even cracked that she didn’t recognize my ex until he stripped off his dress shirt revealing his signature “wife-beater.”
Back at the crib I discovered, well Bosco discovered, something had moved in under my shed and he was very pissed off about it. So pissed in fact, he would not come in from the yard when I called to him as he was trying to tunnel his way under the shed. Big surprise I know. However, he even pulled when I put him on leash. Layla, Miss. Obedient, was so offended by Bosco’s behavior she growled at him. I had to tell them both “Shhh.” As I battled Bosco back into the house, I hoped that whatever is hiding out under there was listening to all the racket, realize there is no siesta here and leave. Pronto!
I check my watch. It is only 2 PM and I am already Wiped Out.