26 August 2014

Skipping down Memory Lane

It's a hot summer night, without a hint of a breeze. Tendrils of hair stick to my neck as I walk hand in hand with my lover. It's late at night here in SmallTown, well past the city-imposed curfew. We meander slowly, both because of the heat and simply because we've nowhere to rush off to. He's teasing me, and our laughter fills the night as we play hopscotch with the lamplight. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me close for a kiss, then picks me up... I halfheartedly struggle to free myself, but it's a ruse, and he knows it.





He compromises, "Come on then, piggy-back ride", he says, his charming grin as undeniable as it was the first time I laid eyes on him two years ago. I giggle like a schoolgirl...me? Piggy-back? Lord help us, I'm almost 40! But I oblige, and hop on, my legs wrapped firmly around his taut and defined waist.

We laugh as he skips down the street, carrying me like a child.

A police car slows down as it passes us, and stops. "Shhh," I say, trying unsuccessfully to regain my grown-up propriety as J puts me down, still laughing. "Yes, sir?" he asks, in his deep Southern drawl. "Your girl dropped something a few steps back," says the officer. He winks at us, "Carry on, kids." He drives off, and from the sidewalk, J retrieves the flower he'd tucked behind my ear earlier. 

Laughter in the lamplight, a kiss under the moon, and memories to keep me warm.

I'm a lucky girl.

He's been gone for months now, taking care of family in the South. Communication is sporadic, at best. Weeks go by without a word, as life gets in the way. Slowly his life has taken root there, and in unspoken agreement, we don't make plans for the future. In my heart there's an emptiness that I ignore, and I carry on. 

But he texted me last night:

"When I get back, I want to do some things with you that we haven't had a chance to do. Take you for a motorcycle ride. Fly you to Lake Tahoe and spend the night. Take you out for good sushi. Sleep under the stars with you. Sneak you off to a motel room and talk dirty to you. Help you around the house and play with the kids. Make you mine."

Pipe dreams, I know, spoken out of loneliness and longing. He's thousands of miles away, and I have no idea when (or if) I'll see him again, and yet... 

I'm a lucky girl.

16 February 2014

Karma Is A ...

The other night I got home from work late, sick with the flu and exhausted. I shuffled into my pyjamas and climbed into bed. Within moments, Eldest burst into the room. "Mum, I absolutely have to go shopping, I need shoes for softball try-outs tomorrow!"

I tried and tried to talk her out of it, tried to convince her to wear my running shoes, but she was adamant. I loathe shopping with unlimited passion, but I caved -only because this is the first she's ever shown interest in a sport- and made the 45 minute drive into Big City to go shopping.

As we walked into the store, I glanced down at Eldest's feet.

"Are you not wearing socks?!" I asked incredulously. Considering we were only shopping for shoes, I was irked.

"Sorry , Mum, I was rushing to get in the car!" she replied, with that annoying teenager half-shrug of indifference that I swear the French adopted from teenagers.

Swearing under my breath, I looked to Youngest. "Baby, take off your sock and give it to your sister." He looked back at me in disbelief. Eldest is a known germaphobe, and refuses to use a utensil unless she herself has washed it first. 

He looked down at his socks, and he looked back at me. "Do it," I said, leaving no room for argument. Eldest started to pitch a fit, refusing to touch the proffered sock, but after I threatened her with things that I'm sure will end up on a therapist's couch, she finally took it.

She sat down, still complaining loudly to no one in particular -as teens are wont to do- and put the dirty sock on. Refusing then to try on the clearance athletic shoes I was willing to buy, and demanding hot pink $100 ones instead, she took off the sock and started to storm out.

No way in hell was that going to happen! I was sick, had made the drive into Big City, had kept the little ones up past bedtime, and was not going to tolerate any more snotty teenage attitude.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the bench she had been sitting on in the shoe area. The dirty sock was still lying on the floor. "Pick up that *#€%£$& sock, put it on, and try on these #%€&@ shoes. Now!" 

Something in my face, or perhaps my tone of voice, encouraged her to comply. 
The shoes fit, she pulled the sock off her foot, and stormed out to the car, having a tantrum the whole store could hear. I called the littler ones over and gathered up the damn shoes that had caused all this headache.

"Thanks, baby," I said to Littlest, nodding my head towards the grimy, dirty sock Eldest had left on the bench. 

"Um, mama?" he said, lifting his pant legs up. There, below the cuff of his jeans, his two ankles were clad in socks. 

He looked at me, I looked at him. We looked at the dirty sock still lying on the floor...



And burst out laughing.

Sometimes karma is a bitch. Sometimes it's a dirty sock left by a stranger.

05 September 2013

Dinner on the River: Fish fingers, anyone?

Well, it's been a hell of a summer, people. Camping with the kids, lazy summer days of trying to stay out of the brutal heat, lots of hammock time. Sounds rough, right?

I spent six days with the current suitor, lazily paddling down the Colorado River in Utah. Laid-back days of rowing, swimming, drinking, floating along the river, bonfires, and yep, you guessed it, more drinking. 2 couples, 4 singles, and copious amounts of beer and wine.





One evening, as we lazily sat in the river's shallows watching the sun set and cooling off, the fish started nibbling. Little tickles here and there, nothing to be concerned about. But as the sun slid away, more and more fish decided to make us their dinner, instead of the other way around. The current had picked up a bit as well, and between the sand building up in bathing suits and fish biting, one by one, people started beating a retreat onto dry land.



The man and I were last ones out, and I had quickly stripped off my bikini bottoms (under water for privacy, of course). Trying to wash the sand out of my swimsuit, fish nibbling on my legs, the man at my back and cracking jokes about the fish being lucky enough to nibble my bits, I felt a particularly ... firm and squirmy thing tickling my bum. I shrieked, and squealed "Holy SHIT, honey, that BETTER have been your finger!"

Laughter erupted hysterically from the beach, and I quickly put my bathing suit back on and turned around only to find that the man was a few feet away, putting his swim trunks back on, and obviously no where in close proximity to my bum.


With that, I did a flying leap out of the river, and the most awesome booty-shaking dance one could ever hope to see.

Let me tell you, it brought a whole new meaning to "fish fingers" that my friends will never let me live down.


05 May 2012

The Comet of Vomit and Dating Doom

So after my lunch date with Dr. McT a few weeks ago (which was fun, as it always is with him, but I guess he wasn't feeling the sparks) we've gone on as always, me popping in once a week with a dog. Laugh, chat, flirt, hug, and more vague promises to get together again.

As usual, after a long day of rushing about, I had just settled into the car to start the drive to Big City to pick up the dog from Dr. McT's again. And then my tummy started to rumble... I started having hot flashes... Minutes ticked by, and with every passing one I was feeling worse. Searing cramps, nausea, hot flashes, cold flashes. It seemed like an eternity, but I finally made it to the vet's office, and without incident.

Dear god, please oh please oh please do not let me get sick right here, I thought, as I parked and made my way into the waiting room full of people. It was the end of the work day, and crowded with people in suits, harried mothers with screaming kids, barking dogs and screeching birds.

Dr. McT always see me last, so we can have a leisurely chat, and that day was no exception. Finally waved into the exam room, he came in and hugged me as always. We chatted for a few minutes about our common hobbies and interests, but I couldn't focus... my stomach was starting to rebel. I could feel it, the buildup of acid, the burning sensation trying to claw it's way up my throat.



"ADoC, are you okay? You look a little... green," he says, finally noticing I'm not really responding to conversation.

Please don't throw up, please don't throw up, was what I thought. "Hmmm--mmm," was all I could muster, afraid to open my mouth. A french fry found it's way back up into my mouth, and I coughed to cover it as I spit it into my hand, trying to casually tuck it into my pocket without him noticing.

"Okay, I'll go get Dog then, I'll be right back," he says, a look of concern on his face. He leans forward, for another hug, arms wrapped and holding me close. That was all it took, that slight amount of pressure...



Just as he turned away and started to shut the door behind him, it erupted... a long, projectile Comet of Vomit that shot its way across the room and all over the table, wall, and floor. I slumped to my knees, grabbed the trash can and proceeded to empty the day's lunch into it. Heart thumping, head pounding, and sweat dripping off me, I heard his voice in the distance... the clickety click of my dog's toenails coming down the hallway... the chatter of a passing nurse stopping Dr. McT for a moment.

That moment was all I needed. I grabbed paper towels and mopped up the mess the best I could, shoved the trash can and it's evidence in a cupboard, and ran to the sink to gargle with hot water.

He came back in the room with Dog, and talked to me a few more minutes. As he leaned in for one last hug, his cheek touching mine, all I could think was...

Eau de Vomit. Definitely not for dating.

17 December 2011

A Christmas Card for the Crazies

Tis the week before Christmas,
And as you might guess,
My life's a disaster and
The house is a mess.

The crazy ex is around
And a joy to be sure,
Whingeing and whining,
And yelling and more.

There's presents to wrap
And bills to pay,
Lovelorn men wanting attention,
All fucking day.

The kids -bless their hearts-
Are trying to be
Laidback and mellow,
But then there's me...

All on edge and stressed
'Bout the stupidest thing,
So fuck one, fuck all
Is what I sing.

But I'll take my Christmas
And do it up right,
With cookies and cakes,
And twinkling light.

So from the bottom of my heart,
To all the crazies I say:
Good riddance to bad rubbish
Please, fuck off today.