Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Baboon Shenanigans

I successfully awoke before 5:00 AM today and worked out for the third time this week. It feels satisfying to have my workout done before I leave for school--not because I'm so happy to be healthy, but because that means I can look forward to a full night of reality TV when I get home, no guilt. I walked this morning, made breakfasts, ate breakfast (I am loving quinoa with a sprinkle of brown sugar), made lunches, and hopped in the shower. I felt a bit like Roz from Monsters, inc, but that was for no particular reason. I was just a little grizzled.


Upon getting out of the shower I remembered that I had no clean underwear. Well not really none, but none that I wanted to wear. If there's a drawer in the house that's suffered under the tight financial regime we've instituted while E was out of a job, it's my underwear drawer. Everything left in that sad drawer this morning could have had the qualifier "granny" in front of it, or it was so full of holes it was basically commando plus. No options for me there. I remembered that I packed a bag last weekend when I thought I was going somewhere overnight, but I hadn't touched it. It sat there by my side of bed all full of clean underwear and promise. I didn't go anywhere, so everything in the bag was clean. (Speaking of my bag, it's worth mentioning how much I adore it. It's the one pictured above, in orange. E surprised me with it a couple of years ago and I lurve it.)

Our bedroom stays pretty dark in the mornings; I'm sure that's a leftover habit from all the years I've been getting up to go to work while E was home with the kids. He was in the bathroom with the light was on, but I was just using the ambient glow and my spidey sense to navigate the room. I reached into the bag to find--yay--one good pair of chonies, and promptly put them on. I reached for my jeans and just as I was pulling them up, a red streak on the side of my thigh and knee caught my eye.

Hmm. That's strange. I don't remember scraping my leg.

This is not an unusual occurrence though. Injuring myself without noticing is habitual. I have a random bruise on my foot right now to prove it. I merely assumed that I scraped the mother-loving-daylight out of my thigh and I moved on. No sense in dwelling on something that was keeping my butt out of my pants. It was dern cold this mornin'. Pulled those suckers right up, I did.

After my pants were on, I headed out to check on Roo in the kitchen. By that time she'd taken her father's lunch and I had to straighten things out. Not good, switching foods with the food allergy guy, especially when it's PB&J/CB&J day. The C makes all the difference. In the kitchen I saw the same horrid streak on my left hand, fingers, and wrist, only it wasn't red as I thought. By the light of the kitchen I saw that I had a 1985 spandex bike short-worthy fluorescent pink hand. Glowing, even. I had no earthly idea where it came from.

I ran back to tell E and my eyes landed on Roo's fuchsia Princess towel which I'd used to dry off about three minutes earlier--also out of necessity due to lack of clean grownup towels. "This thing must be bleeding on me," I told him. We both looked at it, but we didn't see anything that looked like it was giving off pigment, particularly not the color on my hand and thigh which wasn't a color found in nature.

I had a thought.

I'm terrible when it comes to unpacking bags after I use them. I have a closet full of purses, all in various stages of unpacking. I bet if I went in there right now I could find one with the program from a dance performance I viewed or a nine year old chapstick. I tend to take out whatever I need in the next five minutes and leave the rest until some imaginary date in the future when I'll take care of it.

This epiphany led me to walk over to the bag and plunge my hand to the bottom of the blue and gold T shirts. Just as I suspected. One PINK HIGHLIGHTER, cap off. The last time I'd used the bag was to carry papers I was grading. I'd taken the papers to school and left the highlighter there: one solitary, angry highlighter hell-bent on revenge. My chonies soaked up every drop of dye from that pen. Oops.

"I figured it out," I groaned to E, describing the situation. He had no trouble believing this happened to his uber-organized wife. Since I knew it was the underwear that had been the culprit, I went into the bathroom and winced as I undid my pants and pulled them down. Slowly, fearfully, I turned around.

Sometimes, there are no words. It was not altogether different from this:

By that time it was too late to shower again or scrub any of it off. I changed the offending garment and wore my secret all day under my clothes. Every time I'd look at my hand of shame today I'd burst out laughing. Only me. Really, only me.

10 comments:

  1. You are too much....Really. But I hope the family doesn't start to call you "baboon butt".

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  2. HA! Bamboo butt! I'm giggling over your use of the word "chonies." I've never heard of this word in my life. Where did it come from?

    I own many pairs of holey chonies. :)

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  3. Rosy cheeks! This is a funny story!

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  4. Absolutely hilarious. Nuff said!

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  5. It's chones, Spanish or "Mexican" for underwear. Your blog makes me laugh so hard. I would NEVER post MY chones stories:) You must have had some REALLY GOOD writing teachers:) Been a long day. Parents in Oregon don't want dictionaries in the classroom...aaaaaahhhhh.

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  6. hahahahahahahahahahaha. OMG, hilarious. :-) please tell me the highlighter washed off....

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  7. I hope your chonies recover from the highlighter...and other parts you haha!
    I hate spending money on new unders, I'd much rather get a new shirt or something people actually see! Perhaps a VDay trip to VS is in order : )

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  8. Hahahah! I literally laughed out loud as soon as I saw the picture of the monkey butt! What a great visual. That does suck, but it's so crazy that you just have to laugh at the situation. Hey, at least you got an entertaining blog entry out of it :)

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