Easy peasy, lemon squeazy, right?
If you think that's true, this is probably your first time here.
Things got off to a rocky start when this happened:
|Yes, those are my actual, unfabulous, unmanicured nails|
and actual N.C. highway patrol flashing blue lights.
And yes, my Crackberry is purple. Don't judge me.
Don't look at me like that.
But then, when poor little Opie Taylor Trooper looked at my license and said, "Have you got another license ma'am? This one is expired," I nearly crapped a Llama.
It was news to me, but my license had only been dead since December of last year, so it wasn't REALLY that bad.. I guess. Sorta.
Opie Taylor Trooper felt bad for me. I figure I must have reminded him of a crazy old aunt who only leaves the house once a month to buy cat food for her 16 furry roomates and to pick up refills on her crazy pills. He even tried to give me the opportunity to lie. "Has the vehicle been sitting for a while? Is that why the tags were dead?"
I just sighed, cast my gaze downward and shook my head. "No sir. I got the taxes caught up when I got my tax refund. I just haven't gotten around to getting my tags."
After he printed my two page ticket, he explained how to get my fine reduced and who to talk to. Bless his heart.
That little misadventure, all $198.00 worth, made me late for my appointment with Dr. H. When I had to sit in the waiting room an unusually long time, I figured it was my fault for showing up five minutes after my appointment, but then I had to sit for another thirty minutes in the exam room. Finally, Dr. H came flying in the door, apologizing for leaving me sitting there. "Another patient showed up early for her physical and it kind of threw everything off. I could have made her wait but, she was already naked, wrapped in a tissue gown... and she's old so.. you know," she explained.
I assured her it was okay, although I knew there was no way in hell I was going to have time to stop and pick up groceries now, not and make it back to work in the holler by one o'clock.
Dr. H was all excited by my weight loss. When I told her that I was disappointed that I was still 5lbs away from the goal I'd set for myself for my followup visit, she made me look back at the numbers from 18 months ago, gave me a few "atta girls" and encouraged me to keep going. She did wag her finger at me a little for not checking my blood sugar every day. I was like.. "Oh, do I need to do that?"
Thank goodness they've gone to laptops. If they still used clipboards, I probably would have gotten a smack to the head.
They took some blood and made me pee in a cup. I already had the results back on the blood work this morning. In February, my "Average Estimated Glucose" was 160. Now it's 117.
I reckon that's pretty good, right?
While I'm on the subject, with modern medical technology that includes lasers, body scanning, facial reconstruction, boob jobs and morning after pills, why the crap can't they come up with a better way to perform tests on tinkle than handing you a cup and a wet wipe and sending you to the potty? And seriously, is anyone able to hit the cup the first time without having to wave it around under there like a wee-wee divining rod? I've developed quite a talent for peeing up my own arm.
By the time I finished up with my lab work, down in the basement, where they put the crappy doctors and newbie nurses, I barely had time to hit a drive-thru and high tail it back to Frog Pond Holler. Bossholio, PG and the GM's secretary seemed glad to see me, me and Lulu had made appointments on the same day and Thelma is out of town. What I mean is, they had to spend four hours alone in the office without anyone who actually knew how to do anything, other than read romance novels, surf porn and pitch hissy fits.
I was kinda afraid Bossholio was gonna try to kiss me. It was skeery ya'll.
After I put in four hours at the Asylum, I had to drive all the way back to Wally World to get those groceries, two prescriptions and some more finger pokey things. ("Finger Pokey Things" is high fallootin' diabetes medical terminology, for those of you who aren't familiar.) I was pleased to find that the cute pharmacist was working. He's kinda dark skinned with a hint of an accent, a trace of something Latin flavored I think. He gives me the warm fuzzies. As luck would have it, when the cashier scanned my little bag o' drugs, something funky popped up on the computer.
I was not surprised.
I didn't mind though, I got to stand there and look
It's all sort of a blur after that. I'd been on the run all day and I was running out of steam. It took all the self control I could muster to keep from grabbing a child out of a cart as she tried to climb out, while either Grandma or Ms. KindaLateInLifeToHaveAKidButI'mNotJudging stood RIGHT THERE, blocking the whole aisle with her cart and reading the fine print on a box of crackers.
I didn't say anything, but only because I didn't have enough oomph left to get into a Granny Throwdown by the saltines.
But then? When I was almost done, I met a very pregnant HoooonnnnEEEEEE, in her very, very short dress, which I strongly suspect was actually a not-THAT-long maternity top, and her Bubbahubby who we'll call Slopehead Neandersaurus.
HoooonnnnEEEEEE was holding a small box of fruity flavored tea bags that probably cost around $2. I know her name because as Slopehead tried to move on, he became annoyed with HoooonnnnEEEEEE and announced loudly, "HoooonnnnEEEEEE... you have TEA at HOME!" It was obvious that Slopehead wanted to make absolutely certain that the people way over in the frozen foods knew that HE was the master of his single wide and that HE controlled the purse strings.
I watched as HoooonnnnEEEEEE stood there with her perfectly coiffed hair, manicured nails and swollen tummy, holding the little box of tea between her two delicate, dainty hands, quietly negotiating as Slopehead stood beside her, patting her on the shoulder in a patronizingly false display of affection.
I couldn't even hear her. I was RIGHT there. She never looked at him.
He eventually "let" her put the tea in the cart. "Well okay HoooonnnnEEEEEE, I guess you can get it."
I damned near bit my tongue clean off.
Here's the thing. Being a condescending bully does not prove your manhood. It proves your lack thereof. And? If you can't afford to let your very pregnant significant other add a $2 box of tea to your cart containing a gallon of milk and a bag of Dorritos, then maybe you'd better consider taking your trifling ass down to the Mickey D's for a second job because you're going to have an extra mouth to feed soon and about a month from now? That $2 box of tea is gonna sound like a steal of a deal.
And I'm sorry but why the hell is HoooonnnnEEEEEE even walking around Wally World? She was obviously fixin' to squirt little Slopey Jr.out her vajayjay ANY DAMNED MINUTE. It was hurting me just to LOOK at her. She had that preggers outie bellybutton thing going on, her back was all arched and FOR THE LUVA MONKEES, SHE JUST WANTED SOME DAMNED TEA. If I'd had any cash on me, I would have given it to her and told her to buy herself some tea and some Reece cups, then call her mom, her dad, and uncle or SOMEONE to help her get away from this Jerky McNuckledragger before it's too late.
You know what? I hope she has a girl. A spoiled, rotten little Daddy's girl that wraps him so far around her finger that he can kiss his own bee-hind. I hope she bleeds him for every dollar he makes before she runs off at 16, getting a job rocking a stripper pole, leaving him a broken and pathetic shadow of his former self. And then? I hope HoooonnnnEEEEEE does some growing up, gets herself a degree online and runs off to be a strong, independent woman who can buy her OWN damned tea, never having to ask anyone else FOR ONE DAMNED THING EVER AGAIN.
And I hope he ends up living in an old cardboard box down at the overpass. The side of the box will say "Liptons."
I think I need some Midol.
We'll talk again soon.