Like for real….touchy. And it’s Mrs. Fatass's fault because of this post. My lovely friend inspires me to write these ever meaningful blogs…..well, actually what I mean is she writes about something and then I can’t stop thinking about it and it scares the sh*t out of me…so I end up writing about it. Gotta love her.
Okay so Mrs. Fatass recently was caught in the act by her son. Now by the in the act I do mean in. the. act. Like dessert as I like to call it. Like the ultimate embarrassment (though my parents never seemed to try to hide it). And as any good parent would do – she freaked out – and then blogged about it….and left us all with the wonderful public service announcement – REMEMBER TO SHUT THE DAMN DOOR. Ha!
Seriously though – it is scary. I mean I have MANY memories of my parents, the nymphos and let me tell you – it scared the living hell out of me but I never said a word. My brother didn’t either. My sister actually went in there and said something…and has regretted it ever since. They just didn’t give a crap about shutting the door….or um, being discreet or quiet. Wowser. Excuse me while I go throw up – I’ll be back.
Okay enough of that…I’m getting hives. Anywhoozle…so this has not yet happened to me BUT now Mrs. Fatass has me scared it will. Both my daughters are now upstairs – only feet away from my room…one within eye’s view if she stood just right in her room. She is 9….which means she ain’t stupid and things could get tricky. And because I am the scarred daughter of my parents – I indeed give a crap about how this all goes down.
Here’s the thing though – at 4 my youngest daughter will believe anything I say. Anything. So when I tell her mama has to shut her door so she can talk with the Care Bears about what to have for supper before we go ride unicorns…she’ll say “okay” and hop off to play in the magical world that 4 year olds exist in. *God I want to live there.*
The 9 year old is 9 – going on 30…and like I said - she ain’t stupid. Life would be easier if she was. She can’t help it her mother is a genius and she inherited my traits. *Gag right?*
We shut the door for the first time last night knowing full well the daughter is still awake. No biggie. This is what parents have done through the centuries (except for mine dammit). Which makes me wonder – back in the day when people lived in caves or huts – how the hell did that work? There weren’t any doors…can you imagine?? Gives me the heebiejeebies just thinking about it. I imagine it went like this:
“Tonto – go stick bones in your ears and cover your eyes with that tiger skin and pray your mama is quick tonight.”
“No thanks Dad – I’d rather hunt down a sabertooth in my bare feet without a spear…in the dark…with one hand tied behind my back.”
See my friends – this is why they were such good hunters. They were just trying to get out of the damn cave….and there’s not much else to do after sunset outside….
Okay – back to my house….now this is the part where I wanted to smack my friend Mrs. Fatass for blogging so eloquently….cuz dessert was ggoooddd but about every 5 minutes I found myself freaking out in my mind…..like this….
Oh my good God in heaven – what if she walks in right now without knocking? What would I say? “Mommy is practicing for the rodeo and Daddy was kind enough to pretend to be the horse.”
What if she knocks right now? Do I say “just a minute while I put the trapeze away honey – I’ll be right there” or do I dive under the covers and do my loudest fake snore ever? When she wakes me in the morning and asks why I didn’t answer the door and what were those noises – I will play the “there are quite a few stray cats outside and I think they were fighting” card.
Yup – just sunk to a new low – I compared our dessert-making to stray cats. Romantic huh?
If she bursts right in right now – how do I get untangled fast enough to not burn her eyes and take her back to bed? How will she not be terrified? Cuz let’s face it – to a kid – it sounds like their parents are being hurt….at least that’s what I thought.
So yah – all of this – intermittently during dessert….thank you Mrs. Fatass. Oh how I love you so….enough to put you in my bedroom with me. LOL
But alas all went well…..believe me….all tragedies were avoided and rodeo training was a success.
You’d think I was in the clear. Um, no. In our house and many I think – there’s a ritual after dessert. Get up, go pee, get a drink, call your friends to brag, come back to reality. This means opening the door – AFTER daughter thinks we went to bed an hour ago….and walking by her room.
The girl has got to be confused. Goodnight – we’re off to bed. Door shuts. Time passes. Door opens. Out walk naked parents. Back to bed they go. What the holy hell is going on?
And WHY ISN’T SHE SLEEPING????
Cuz ferrel cats were making too much noise outside perhaps? Jesus.
I suspect soon enough I may not have to explain the during….but the after. Why do we close the door on some nights and then come out and go pee and get a drink, etc? Oy – you can bet your sweet ass I’m not telling her the truth. I’m going to tell her that we are discussing the day she turns 16 and wants a car and the noises are her Daddy sobbing at the thought and it’s so mentally exhausting that when the conversation is over we need to pee and drink and call our therapist. Naked.
Can I also just say that by 6am this morning I learned a new term? It is a term I didn’t ask to learn….but learn I did. I was getting ready – all quiet and polite-like to as not to awaken Rambo and as if he’d been awake for hours I hear this.
Baby, I can officially call you a turkey now.
WHAT? You’re awake. What is going on? What in the cripes are you talking about turkeys so early for? It’s dark out. I’m so confused.
That’s what they call people who get three strikes in a row in bowling. Turkeys. *as he smirks*
Um wow – I’m slightly embarrassed and it’s quite apparent he should be called a damn peacock. Rambo is pretty proud of himself this morning. If you have no idea what I’m talking about – you’re actually better off. It’s just so lame I felt the need to blog about it. Rambo can’t fit his ginormous head through any doorways today….cuz his wife is a full-blown turkey.
Such a romantic pet name huh?
It’s pretty obvious Rambo had no door during or after fears. He’s all good. Stray cats have never bothered him when the mojo is flowing.
You may commence to vomit now. You’re welcome. Like I said – blame Mrs. Fatass.