Snowbird
One of my not-quite-New Year’s resolutions was to save money, which is challenging, given that I have a job that pays in the range of cashews. But, I figured I could cut back in odd ways.
And I started a new frugal initiative today! Yes, today! Today I decided to pluck my eyebrows instead of having them professionally waxed. I look like Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. Sinister and slightly deranged, with my right eyebrow cocked at a rakishly jaunty angle due to overzealous plucking with my brand-new Tweezerman. Did I mention I also need a haircut so desperately that my head is starting to resemble the head of a circumcized penis? Relief comes tomorrow in the form of a hair appointment. But there is no saving the eyebrows.
Bringing lunch to work is more my speed, though that, too, has also resulted in disaster, given that my fancy polycarbonate water bottle lid doesn’t fit right* and not once, but twice I have lost the cap in my lap and soaked myself to the skin. My days have been spent largely trying to explain away my splotchy wet clothes to my new coworkers. Of course, the crotch seems to be the area that gets soaked the most. And why it seems to settle into a triangle shape is beyond infuriating.
And in the midst of all of this mad water-drinking and crotchal triangle wetness, I had to go to an appointment yesterday, only to find that when I got into my car my battery was dead**. Though I had to cancel my appointment, our friends at AAA were kind enough to arrive to give me a jump start. When they arrived, I had somehow managed to not spill and actually DRINK approximately eleventy million gallons of water and had to pee desperately. But they were going to be fast, so it was no big deal! Right? NO BIG DEAL! They’d charge me up, and I’d go back to work and everything would be fine! Fine!
Except they weren’t. I mean, they were fast – yes, they fired up my car in less than five minutes! But what they failed to tell me was that *after* they fired it up, I had to keep it running and moving for 45 consecutive minutes. Which meant I had to NOT PEE and drive around for 45 minutes. The areas I was tooling around are are gorgeous places to be, but when you have a bladder (whose owner also has her period) the size of a watermelon, the gorgeousness totally loses its appeal. It even becomes less appealing when Watermelon Bladder suddenly finds herself on a one-lane street crossing over a causeway behind a vacationing couple in a Jaguar convertible – she was wearing a straw hat – who think that driving 25 MPH in a 55 MPH zone is perfectly acceptable so that they can gaze languidly over the bridge, searching for manatees.
This is a popular situation. As a rule – myself included when I’m on vacation – vacationers tend to think that THEY ARE ON VACATION, so the rest of the world should adjust their lives to make THEIR VACATION perfect. At one point, I desperately searched the car for a bottle, a cup – ANYTHING that I could use to prevent myself from peeing on the seat of my little SUV. I kept asking myself in vain, do they not SEE the line of cars behind them? DO THEY NOT CARE?
The answer is no, they do not care. I learned this when I finally passed them illegally, my bladder taking over, when they waved their arms in disgust and laughed in my face, diamond bracelets jangling off of the woman’s arm as she threw her head back and caught her straw hat. Yes, yes, I could have been more polite. Perhaps waving middle fingers and screaming, “GO HOME! YOUR HAT SUCKS!” wasn’t the friendliest of approaches, but still. Yes, I actually did that. Or rather, my Watermelon Bladder made me do it. Did I mention I have my period? And that I HAD TO PEE SO BAD? And that my 45 minute drive has now crossed the 90 minute mark? And that my radio doesn’t work because the battery is fried? NINETY MINUTES OF WATERMELON BLADDER ENDURED IN SILENCE.
Tired. I am so very tired. And grumpy.
*Because I don’t learn from my mistakes and can’t put the lid on right.
**Because I left my lights on all morning like an idiot.
***Today’s song brought to you by Anne Murray. If you know who she is, you’re laughing at me. Stop laughing. Fly away, Snowbirds! FLY FAR FAR AWAY!
18 comments January 5th, 2006