Sunday, October 2, 2011

And I Thought My Mom Was Crazy

The kids and I flew in from a week long vacation late last night. Their dad picked them up from the airport, and it being my first night without the kids in over three weeks, I went home, unpacked, drank wine, and trolled the internet. Party!

I scheduled the bulk of my getting ready for the week for the morning so I could relax this afternoon. Finished grocery shopping, got gas, washed car, bought coats for kids and colander at Target (finally threw away the hand me down I got from my parents when going off to college 22 years ago - no more metal flakes in the kid's pasta!), and bought some new toner - mine had exploded on the plane.

I was pleasantly surprised that the weather heated up to 72 degrees by mid- afternoon - perfect for laying out in the sun and catching up on the last three Rolling Stones that had been piling up on my console. I spent a couple of hours squeezing the last bit of bikini weather sun out of the Arkansas Indian summer and staring out over the River. Read about everything from pedophile Catholic priests to nefarious Wall Street shenanigans to the life of George Harrison post-Beatles (I loved The Traveling Wilburys - forgot he was in that band). Changed back into pants and a long sleeved shirt to head home - it is cool in the shade and wind - and felt warm, sunny-skin drunk as I drove, sunroof open, windows down, radio blaring. Ready to see my kids again.

Suddenly, I felt a large winged creature in between my shirt and my shoulder, frantically buzzing and trying to beat its way to safety. Before I could register my panic, it slid its way down my scapula, halfway to my underarm. I could see no way of getting it out easily - if I widened the neck of my shirt it might just crawl on my neck and get stuck in my hair, a possible course of events that's appeal rivaled death. I grabbed it with my left hand to get it away from the skin on my back - now it was loosely cupped in my palm, wings flapping against my shirt. I didn't want to squish it - not that I was feeling charitable toward the insect world at this point - but I really liked this shirt and I didn't want to get bug guts all over it.

Now that I had the matter under control, I returned my focus to the road and drove like a race car driver to the nearest parking lot - weaving in and out of traffic, trying to block out and ignore the, I was sure if this by now, Prehistoric Monster Insect that was attacking me. A minute of driving like this stretched out into infinity, but I finally saw a parking lot and pulled in behind a building. I jumped out of the car, tore my shirt off, and shook out a small, unobtrusive winged creature - it must have been the spawn of the Prehistoric Monster Insect that escaped my notice as it flew away. Just as I finished jumping and flapping, finally feeling relief, I looked up and realized that I was dancing next to a dumpster in my bra, behind a church, in broad afternoon daylight. This song was blaring from my radio:

I laughed as I stretched my shirt back on, jumped in the car, and hit the road. Can't wait to tell that one to the kids. They love my Crazy Mom stories almost as much as they love hearing about what their Crazy Cat - Katybell a.k.a Katy Lady a.k.a Crazybell does when they aren't around. I'll leave out the song, I think.


Kyla said...

Hahaha! Oh my gosh, that is very, very funny. I imagine I'd have done the same.

Gizabeth Shyder said...

Something about live insects trapped in your clothing leaves people throwing decorum out the window.