The Roof Is On Fire

So Sunday was spend with my BFF Madge and her daughter, Madgette. We set up bow-making stations in my dining room and went at it. As you can imagine, this was a comedy of errors.

One of us (MADGE!), could not figure out how to loop an awareness ribbon. (You know, one loop over. Like people wear for the troops or breast cancer. The simplest of all bowing.) Well, she could tie knots like a boy scout, but looping a ribbon was out of her grasp. Internet, I wish you could have seen her sitting there trying to figure out how to make a balanced figure-eight out of a strip of ribbon. She could have solved a Rubik Cube faster. She'd twist it and turn it, then examine it. Five minutes later she's undo all of her tedious, precious work and proclaim: IT WASN'T PERFECTLY EVEN. IT HAS TO BE EVEN. IT MUST BE BALANCED!!! Two which, I was all: EASY THERE, RAINMAN. REMEMBER, WE'RE STILL LEARNING. NOTHING IS GOING TO BE PERFECT.

Just as I was about to give up any hopes of finishing the project because my partner, Monk, was all OCD, the telephone rang and Madge had to leave to pick of her teenage, foreign exchange student from the mall. As soon as she left, I was all over that ribbon. When she returned half an hour later, there was a pile of imperfect, lightly uneven bows piled up ready for decoration. And, Internet, you might think I'm making fun of my sweet Madge and her perfectionism, but I swear to you I am not. I told you all that just so I could tell you this: She walked in, sat down and took a look at those bows and smiled. And not the kind of smile you give the slow kid when they draw a picture of heart that looks like a diseased lung. She was happy to have a point to more forth from. Even if it wasn't the best base, she was happy to have a foundation at all.

And so for the new several hours we cut, twisted, glued and decorated bows. There may have even been an incident of hot gluing a strip of ripen to the melting-prone table cloth (Momma Pug!). Nonetheless, we pushed onward and by 5:30 last night we had a decent start to Madge's bow business. They will be making their debut this weekend in Pearland at the craft fair. That is, if we survive until then.

The husband and I were gone from the house for a couple o hours after Madge left yeserday and I was all DO YOU SMELL GAS??

And Hub was all 'AOH MY GOD, THE OVER!!! THE OVER HAS BEEN LEFT ON. ALL. DAY.!!! YOU COULD HAVE BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

And I was all: Uhhhhhhh…. Oops?

So, Internet, come see us at our craft fair booth this weekend and buy something from us. It’s a good cause, especially if we are homeless after we forget to turn the over off and set all our shit on fire.

With Apologies to French Pirates Who Find Themselves Offended

I spent Saturday afternoon with my BFF Madge and her spawn, Madgette, and it was during a most enjoyable excursion to the Good Will store that I realized how old, weird and embarrassing I have become. And by "I", I mean both me and Madge.

Oh, Internet, I can't even begin to tell you all the things we did and said that elicited baffled, uncomfortable looks from that six-year-old child. It was like EVERY time we went to open our mouths, her face almost seemed to say: SWEET JESUS, HERE THEY GO AGAIN. APOLOGIES TO ALL THOSE CAUGHT IN THEIR WAKE.

The expression lasted only a moment, mind you. But it was there. It was a decisive moment in her young life when she had to decide AM I ASHAMED? or DO I EMBRACE IT? So far, she's embracing us, one mortifying episode at a time.

But what happens when she's a preteen and here we are SINGING PIRATE SONGS in the line at the Kroger. And not just with pirate accents. No, we were French pirates that love cheese and wine. And we are singing loudly, projecting on all around us.

True story, y'all, except it happened in the car. But for the sake of explaining how PUBLICLY horrible we can be, lets just go ahead and set the stage in a grocery story. Seriously, you can't make this shit up:

Me: YO HO, YO HO, ME THINKS ME SPIES A PLATE OF WINE AND CHEESE.

Madge: AVAST ME MATEY. LETS LAND THIS HERE PIRATE SHIP AND GO SHORE TO PLUNDER.

Me: AYE, MATEY! SET A COURSE FOR TORTUGA AND BREAK OUT THE RUM!

Madge: NO! TONIGHT WE DRINK WINE! WE'RE FRENCH, REMEMBER!

Me: AYE, AND WE SMELL! AND WE EAT FRENCH FRIES! AND FRENCH TOAST!

(Madgette is as far away from us as possible without actually leaving our line of vision.)

Madge: ARG! WHAT GOES THERE? IS IT A WEE LITTLE PIRATE? HIDING FROM US?

Me: WELL SHIVER ME TIMBERS! I BELIEVE IT IS!

(Because I don't know how to type it out, you'll just have to imagine that dialogue peppered with our best nasally French/Disney villain laugh.)

And so it went on and on and on.

Later that night we were talking about how Madge has to murder me. (Quick aside: I MAY have accidentally introduced Madgette into a store that is irresistible to little girls and throws them birthday parties that cost hundreds of dollars. Oops.) And so Madge was telling me of the ways I would be punished for this sin. And I was repentant and accepting that I screwed the pooch majorly by not scoping out the store beforehand rather than just sending us in like blind lambs to slaughter. That's when she looked at her angelic daughter and said: YOU KNOW, ONE OF THE DAYS SHE'S GOING TO BE SO EMBARRASSED BY US.

That was it, Internet. That's all the she said. But that tiny statement crushed our hearts because of the truth it carried. There is a day in the months – hopefully years, if we can delay it – ahead in which Madgette stops being a little girl and starts on her journey to being a little lady. When that happens, the singing with fake French pirate accents might force more from her than the casual rolling of her eyes. This is a slippery slope that ends with Madgette -- some years from now – trying to reason with us on why the city will not allow anymore cats in our condo and perhaps even physically wrestling away our car keys.

And all I can say is this: Madgette, I pray your uncle and I have children so you do not have to bear this burden alone. But if we don't, I promise you that we will love you and spoil you and hopefully purchase enough of your loyalty and affection that all when we're soiling ourselves while singing with fake French pirate accents that you are able to brave the humiliation and help us change our drawers. Because, that is what your future holds, Madgette. That and a lot of other really awesome stuff that doesn't involve pirates or poop.

Ignorant, Stupid American

There's the strip mall near our house that has five stores: a donut shop, a dry cleaners, an Asian eatery, a karate studio and a nail place. My husband and I frequent these businesses, especially the donut shop. We're what you'd call regulars. They know us by name.

Every weekend, the husband goes in and grabs us a couple of kolaches and donuts. He is always polite, courteous and leaves a nice tip. They know his face far better than they know mine, and I kind of assumed that rapport he'd built automatically transferred over to me. Apparently, not so.

That morning we'd stopped by the cleaners a couple of doors down to drop off some of the husband's suits, but they were closed and there was no sign indicating their hours of operation. So, in a moment of sheer genius, I decided to asked the girl at the donut shop.

"Hey, what time does the cleaners open?" I asked.

"How I suppose to know?" she asked, turning toward me with a look of disgust in her eyes.

"Oh…" I begin.

"Oh? Oh? Oh, you tink since we Asian so we own dat dry cleaners?" she asked sarcastically. "White family own dat place. You stereotyping. Shame on you. Shame on you."

The next moment is filled with a long pregnant pause. My instinct is to tell her she's wrong, that I just thought she might know since they share a building. But I fight the urge to go on the offensive, especially after I turn and see my husband's bright red ears and the look on his face that says: OH MY GOD, HOW EMBARSSING CAN YOU BE???

Another very still, silent second passes and I think the lady might start throwing donuts at me. Since I'm not prepared for a an apology – I maintain that 9 our of 10 times my presumption would have been correct – I decide to go with what I know best and launch Operation Defuse The Situation With Humor.

"So, I guess that means you don't know if they have time to work me in for a manicure and pedicure at the nail place?"

Before the girl had an opportunity to react, my husband drug me out of the donut shop by the arm and screamed apologies over his shoulder. We get back into our car and sits behind the wheel, staring at me. Finally he speaks:

"Well, that's yet another place we can't show our faces again… and I really liked their donuts."

I Think This Sums Up Where I Am From

The wake for my grandmother lasted about five hours. People I never knew my grandmother touched came to pay their respects. It was moving to see that sort of outpouring for such a kind, humble, unassuming woman.

But after several hours of saying hello to people I already thought were dead – sorry Aunt Jerry – I was really tired and looking for a place to kind of rest for a minute that I didn't have to be so polite and profanity-free. That place turned out to be with my older cousin, his glorious wife, and my husband in the coffee-break room of the funeral home.

As we were sitting there talking, my husband decided to go buy a Diet Coke. He walked up the machine, stood there for a minute and then turned around perplexed.

"This machine doesn't seem to have a slot for dollars," he said like he thought he was surely overlooking the place to feed the machine money.

"Yeah, this is Franklin County. They haven't moved up to that technology yet," I said. "You need CHANGE."

So the husband rifles around until he get correct change. He even puts the money in, but still stands there befuddled.

"Its just spitting the change back out?" he said, in a weak, tired and near defeated way.

"This is Franklin County, it doesn't recognize anything except quarters," I explained.

Ten minutes later we wrangled up enough quarters to buy one Diet Coke.

And that is the best example I can give of where I come from. I am not kidding, Internet, you should have to have your passport stamped and your shots updated before visiting there.