Bebopping. Modocking. Gettin' jiggy with it. All expressions that could be used to explain what I had been doing prior to the incident. Legitimate words? I'll consult Webster later, but for now I'll just say - I had been struttin' my stuff moments before 'THE SHOW' as I've come to call it.
But let's start at the beginning, shall we? Got Jason packed and ready to go Monday morning. After taking Ace to school, he would be off again to Indy. I had followed them to the front door to see them off kissing 'em both goodbye. Jason returned my kiss with a look of suprise, a crooked little grin, and another kiss. Why's that noteworthy you ask? Another improvement people! He usually comes in to me on the couch for a goodbye or when in a hurry, yells to me from the foyer, "Love you, Babe!"
Upon my return to my well worn spot on th couch, I was greeted by Abe's whining about Daddy leaving. "He'll be back tomorrow, Goober!" And over his tears and sniffles, I continue with my famous, "Suck it up, buttercup!" Once we fired up the Wii and got breakfast in our bellies all was right with the world again. Thank you, Mario!
It was shaping up to be a humid, muggy Monday. As I opened the sliding glass door to let out the Gooch I was met with a wall of heat. As that usually crippling nemesis rushed in to greet me, I stepped out, and get this people, I stayed standing as Gooch did his business. I didn't venture out to the trampoline, or even off the patio for that matter but I did manage to bypass my usual resting place. Just outside the door and placed invitingly in the shade - I snubbed that chair. A victory? Yeh, take that heat!
Next on the agenda had been to get Abel ready for school. Cleaned up, dressed, and fed in way less time than usual. So with 30 minutes to spare before we'd needed to head out, Abel rolls his eyes and asks, "You gonna take me?" I assure him I checked things out and my license is still good. Though clearly still worried, he forces a smile and says, "That's a relief!" Quite the sarcastic ball of joy, my son. A comic terror. Don Rickles comes to mind.
The truck doesn't ding or beep at me. I don't trip over the stump out front. The low hanging tree branches don't bonk me in the head. And I get the door to the house open on the first try. The day is shapin' up pretty nice. What next? With Jason gone I ought to conserve energy and take a nap. But no, I prop my feet up and head to Farmville. I got me some soybeans needs harvestin' boys and girls. Yeehaw! And I need bricks and lumber . . .
And the boys are home before I knew it. My how times flies when you're farmin'. We have snacks, fight over the Wii and watch "Rocky IV." Poor Apollo. He dies every time we watch it. Then as supper time approaches my inquiries as to what sounded good were met with denial of hunger. Whoops! Maybe we'd gone a little too hard on the snacks. So with that we started up another classic via Netflix.
And I sang along. Amidst the boys' heckling and cries for mercy I sang every word to every song in 'Annie.' I was Annie, Ms. Hannigan, Grace Ferrell, the Rockettes, and even Daddy Warbucks. The boys were impressed - not with my singing ability of course, but with the fact that I knew every last word to every last song. And suprisingly a good chunk of the dialog too.
They can be sooo easily entertained sometimes, I tell ya! And I hadn't even put on my show.
Wait for it. Wait for. Here it comes . . . I pause the movie so as to not miss a second of the action. I head to the kitchen to scrounge up some supper. Asa decides on soup and a bologna sandwich. Easy. Done. Want milk? Come and get it. Abel wants a pizza lunchable. Fine. Super easy. Come get it. And for me? Me who was still standing in the kitchen? A got out more bread and bologna and microwaved some more soup as Asa's had smelled sooo good.
A one trip kinda gal myself - how was I to make it back to the table in the living room to join my kiddos? They'd been waiting on me to start our movie back up. Should I ask them for help? I'd already ordered each of them to the kitchen to fetch and transport their own meals. Why should they have to cater mine as well? I was walking steadier. Let's put this to the test.
My glass filled only about half way, as per my norm if I'm to be the sole carrier, I thought it safe enough to place beneath my somewhatoutstretched upper left arm. Tilting somewhat towards a spill at only half full, the large 32 oz. tumbler had been the least of my worries. In my left hand then I grasped the Campbell's Soup at Hand mug. Brilliant invention. Just heat and drink from the lid. Similar to a toddler's sippy cup. So right up my alley!
Then with my right hand (usualy my weakest) I pick up my plate with a lone bologna sandwich atop. I figured this would be the easiest of my parcels to pick up should I crash. Supper, Gooch! Come and get it! What mess? I don't see a mess. But alas the 20 to 30 feet I traveled hadn't warranted even a bump or a jostle. Yeah, me! Consider this a celebratory bebopping!
Both boys had been gazing up at me in astonishment. That should have been enough of a recognition. Not so. I had been so proud of the feat I had just accomplished that I turned my head to gaze out our 8 foot sliding glass doors in hopes that others had been witness to it too. And at that very second . . . my size 20 capris fell swiftly to my ankles. Whoooosh!
Had I been expecting a crowd of spectators in my back yard? Were they to stand and applaud at my having made it all that way spill free? I don't know what I had been thinking besides wanting to share in that glorious moment with as many as I could. Lucky for me it had been only birds, bunnies and squirrels as spectators to my wardrobe malfunction.
Also lucky I had anything on under my pants. Still nothing I'd want to parade around the neighborhood in so as any modest young woman would do, yes even me, I immediately bent to retrieve them. On my way down I even sat my bologna sandwich on the table. Crisis averted? Not exactly. Spill my drink? Guess again. For that soup container being only warm to touch - the soup itself had been HOT on my naked legs!
Pants up, spill cleaned, ego trampled, we began again with 'Annie.' I prayed the sun WOULD come out tomorrow. "Betcha bottom dollar . . ." I just couldn't seem to catch a break. The silver lining though, once I'd thought about it, I must be losing weight. Another "Yeah, me!" moment. I'd just have to have my favorite camoflauge pants taken in a bit. Not for purposes of vanity, and clearly not of modesty, but for that of safety's sake!
Pants around your waist makes for much easier walking than pants around your ankles. And that's a fact, Jack! No studies needed. And hysterical antics during dinner, especially any involving your mother being pantsed, maybe hazardous to your health. Abel hadn't yet tore into his pizza, but Asa almost lost his soup over the whole ordeal as well. They were both reeling still hours later way past bedtime.
Come home soon, baby. We miss you here at the pantsing emporium. The high is supposed to be 96 Tuesday. And with that said tomorrow may prove to be a pantless on purpose day. Pray for me people. And my neighbors!