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Monday, September 29, 2014

A Gross Understatement



My son returns home every weekend to hang with friends, thereby invading my girl cave.  When he moved out, I transformed his room into my dressing room.  He kept his room nice and tidy at all times.  Everything had a place and everything was in its place.  Now, it looks like an outlet mall/cosmetic store exploded after Christmas rush frenzy.  If I cared, it would be embarrassing, but since I don’t, it isn’t.  Saturday I went to Ada to help my cousin move my aunt.  I grabbed the only pair of jeans I had in our bedroom.  They were my favorite jeans but I hadn’t worn them in a long time.  I zipped them up and wiggled my butt to see if they fit or it they were too snug.  With the stress of the last 9 months, I haven’t been diligent about my workouts and I’ve been stress eating.  Surprisingly they fit in a not too tight, but just right kind of way. 


It is amazing how much stuff one can cram in a tiny assisted living apartment.  We were moving my aunt into a smaller apartment.  I thought to myself the day would be a breeze.  We were only moving a few doors down and the rooms are small, so how bad could it be… Oh how wrong I was.  We had eight people moving and it still took ALL-DAY-LONG.  In spite of the air conditioning, all the women were having hot flashes (an important part of the story) and I was thanking God I had put my hair up in a ponytail.  When we finally finished, her room was cute as a button with her walls decorated, family pictures up, and TV in place.  We went to my cousins to clean up and planned to meet the other worker bees for a celebratory dinner.

Disclaimer: this is where the story takes a comical turn that will seem exaggerated, but I have multiple witness who will testify that it is embarrassingly accurate, if not drastically understated, because even I am at a loss as to how to accurately describe it in a way that will bring it to life so you  feel like you were there to also be a witness. Yes, my grammar check had a conniption about the previous sentence telling me it was too long. Well, too bad!


I lay on the couch candy crushing (with no success) while my cousin took a shower and cleaned up.  I was a sweaty, yucky mess. I didn’t think to bring a change of clothes with me so the best I could do is tuck the hair that had escaped my ponytail, back in place. When we started to leave for the restaurant, I sat in the car and heard a barely audible rip.  I sucked in a large breath and muttered CRAP!!  My cousin looked over at me with confusion on her face and said… “What?”  Slowly I got out of the car.  As soon as I stood, she gasped (GASPED!) then ERUPTED in a fit of laughter.  I mean like she was having to hold onto the steering wheel so she didn’t fall out of the car kind of laughing.  Her husband stood at his truck looking back at us trying to figure out what was so funny (to her, not me…. I wasn’t laughing).  Her daughter-in-law came out of the house and we called her over to the car.  She took one look at my hiney and total shock took over her face.  Meanwhile, my cousin is STILL laughing hysterically and finally says…. “Oh my gosh Jac…. What are you going to do?”  I looked at her and said…. “You are going to go into a store and buy me a pair of jeans and try, just try to show a little compassion here!”  We got in the car and as she continues to laugh, I try to come up with a reasonable plan and a plausible explanation as to why the ENTIRE seat of my jeans ripped and not in a "shabby chic" kind of way.  “What detergent are you using?”  she asked me.  “It’s not the detergent!” I spat…. “Obviously, it’s all of the sweat and hard work I did helping you today!  It caused the denim to just…. Just disintegrate!  That’s what happened, that’s got to be what happened.”  On the way to the store she suggested I take my shirt off (I had a tank top under it), and wrap it around my waist which she thought would cover the entire. Well, mess… (for lack of a better word that doesn’t start with A).  So, I took my shirt off, wrapped it around my waist and instructed her to stick to my back like glue!!!  We chose to go into Stage since it’s small store and usually not crowed. We went straight to the jeans section and I snapped up a couple of pair and we headed to the dressing room.  The second pair I tried on fit fine… I wasn’t crazy about them, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to shop either.  “I’m not taking these off” I told her… “They’ll just have to scan them with me in them.” She held up my old pair and I told her just to leave them in the floor…. “I’m not taking them.  Just leave them here.”  She wadded them up what was left of them and threw them in the corner.  She didn’t even have the decency to stifle the snickering.  We went to the sales counter where a sweet girl stood to check us out.  I approached the counter and said…. “Here’s the deal…. There are a pair of jeans in the dressing room that has no seat in them…. They are my pants and the ones that I’m wearing belong to the store. I’m going to buy them but I’m not taking them off so you’ll just have to scan them with me wearing them.” Her eyes flitted from me to my cousin and back again. I could almost see the gears in her head thinking maybe this was a secret shopper prank or a reality show trying to punk her. “I just have one question” she said… “Why don’t they have a seat in them?” This caused my cousin who was trying to get a grip, to lose what little she had…. “Well, that is a good question and I would like to answer it by saying apparently they don’t make jeans like they used to.”  She held her hands up in a stop motion and took a step away like I had Ebola….. “You’re going to have to do it… You’ll have to lay on the counter, unzip the pants, turn the waist inside out and press the alarm tag onto this metal thing right here to get the alarm to come off.”  Again, my cousin took enough of a breath to give her laughter more momentum and mentioned something about filming this.  Without hesitation I hopped my big butt upon the counter, unzipped the jeans, turned the waist inside out and leaned over attempting to match the alarm with the metal button on the counter.  The button was situated precariously close to the cash register causing me to have to lift my arm over my head in a pin-up model kind of pose (without the beauty of such), in order to scooch close enough to match the alarm to the button, which also caused me to bang my head on the register.  As I was doing this as quickly as possible I heard the clerk say…. “I’m just looking for my manager.”  Quick as lightening I shot up saying…. “Oh, no, no, no… Please don’t do that…. I’ll go take the pants off and have her come pay for them.”  About that time the clerk looked down and noticed that I had been successful in removing the alarm, all that was left was the needle part poking me in the hip.  She scanned the pants as my cousin stood behind me taking the stickers and tags off.  As we left to get me aunt (with my cousin STILL laughing hysterically), I remembered something about my old jeans.  They had bling around the hips and on the pockets.  The brads would sometimes poke me so I had taken hot pink zebra duct tape and taped around the inside to cushion the brads…. “When they find those jeans, they’re going to think I duct taped them together!” I shouted.  The car swerved as another fit hit my cousin. “Jac, do you realize that EVERY time we’re together, something like this always happen and I laugh harder than I ever have???  I haven’t laughed this hard since you came down for Mom’s 90th birthday… What is it with you?”  What can I say?? I live to entertain, things just happen.  There is a very good reason why my husband calls me Lucille Ball.

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