Last night I told Brian that because I could sleep in this morning, it meant that I would wake at 5 am and I would not be able get back to sleep. I also asked him to remind me that Elizabeth had an appointment at 9 am to receive her flu vaccination. My memory is SHOT lately. I attribute my forgetfulness to pregnancy, although it could be age settling into my fried brain.
At 4 am, the cat started thumping at the foot of my bed. She had found a fabric softener sheet. These sheets have the same effect on her as catnip, and cause her to become violently spastic. She behaves the same way just before she has to take a dump. This is one seriously disturbed cat.
I couldn't get back to sleep, so I worked on a few projects. Brian woke at 7. He overslept. I envied.
At 8 am, Elizabeth woke up. I brought her downstairs, dressed her, made a waffle and cut orange slices for her breakfast.
At 9 am I remembered I was supposed to be doing something.
At 9:01 I remembered that Elizabeth was supposed to be getting her flu shot at that very moment. I called the office and apologized profusely. They told me to come on in anyway.
At 9:30 we arrived at the office. E-Beth was vaccinated, and we rushed off to the PO to overnight a package to an actress in IA.
At 10 we we managed to get in some shopping - I needed to buy a few frames for some gifts, and Elizabeth was less-than-pleased about the whole experience.
So we drove over to McDonald's so E-Beth could enjoy a nutritious meal of "Dippy Sauce," the only "food" item she will eat anymore. She had a chicken nugget happy meal, and the prize was a weird purple creature who sang songs when you pressed his belly.
Elizabeth chose meal time to put on a delightful little show for everyone around us. She poked the purple creature's butt and announced, rather loudly, "POOPY!" The woman at the next table shot a snotty glare in my direction, so I tried to disguise the conversation,
"Yes, he is PURPLE!" I responded.
"POOPY!" cried Elizabeth and she poked at the purple creatures butt again.
"PURPLE! VERY GOOD!" I cried.
It was at this very moment that the Poopy Gods shot their DON'T-MESS-WITH-THE-POOPY thunderbolt through my heart, and Elizabeth glared at me, determined to make me FINALLY understand the point she was trying to make.
She let out a string of farts that resonated off those molded plastic McDonald's benches like thunder on the mountain and screamed at the top of her lungs, "POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"
The woman who had been previously glaring at me burst into laughter. I was grateful for it. I don't think I could have handled another snotty glare.
I gathered up Elizabeth's coat and her purple poopy monster and shuffled ourselves out the door.
Next we went to the MOST OBNOXIOUS FABRIC STORE ON EARTH. I avoid this store if at all possible, but a 40% off coupon and a shortage of muslin forced me to darken their doorstep. Elizabeth was getting pretty tired and cranky at this point, and I needed to grab a bolt, pay then leave. Simple enough?
Not at THIS store.
Cutter Lady number one stood at the table fondling a bolt of fleece, staring blankly into Neverland. Cutter Lady number two argued with another customer about whether or not she had the correct shade of mauve. Cutter Lady number three stood at the phone, repeatedly picking it up, listening, hanging up, picking up, listening, hanging up . . . .
I held ticket number 66 in my hand. Their display read "Now serving customer number 64."
15 minutes later, while Elizabeth was screaming "DOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWN!" and "WALKWALKWALKWALKWALKWALK!" in my face because I had her belted securely in the seat to keep her from doing swan dives off the cart, my number was finally called. Elizabeth threw her shoes at me as I handed Cutter Lady number Four my fabric bolt and told her clearly, "I WANT ALL OF IT."
Cutter Lady Four: Wow. That's a lot of muslin. What are you making?
Me: ELIZABETH, STOP THROWING YOUR SHOES AT ME! I make LOTS of things with it. I'd like all of it, please.
Cutter Lady Four: (not scanning my fabric, not adding up yardage, just standing there watching me lose a game of Dodge-Shoe with a terrible two-er) You can't tell me what you're making?
Me: (GLARE) We're in a bit of a hurry here and Elizabeth isn't having much of a good time - could we just get the fabric and go, please? (THWACK! as a shoe hits me in the chest)
Cutter Lady Four: Heyyyyyyyyy! Elizabeth is MY name too! Did you steal my name?
Elizabeth: DOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWNDOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cutter Lady Four: Awwww, you're cute!
Elizabeth: POOPYPOOPYPOOPYPOOPYPOOPYPOOPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cutter Lady Four: Did she say "poopy?"
Me: Yes, and that's a REALLY BAD sign. You don't want to see what happens next - can we get that fabric. NOW, please?
We eventually made it out of the MOST OBNOXIOUS FABRIC STORE ON EARTH and headed home.
I put Elizabeth down for her nap and she was asleep almost immediately. Shopping is exhausting business. I came back downstairs and noticed that my glasses had broken - the tiny screw that holds the lens in place had come undone. I fussed with a bit and realized that the thread had worn down and the screw would not longer hold. I decided to Super Glue it in place, and then I'd buy a new pair of glasses over the weekend.
I squeezed the little tube of Super Glue to dot a small drop on the frame. Nine drops came out and landed on my finger. I hurriedly wiped it off on a piece of paper. It dried quickly. I hate the feeling of dried, hardened Super Glue on my finger, but you have to work quickly when using it, so I pressed the frame together for a few seconds. Once it appeared to stick, I examined at my now-hardened, Super Glue-covered finger and did what most normal people would consider "the unthinkable."
I put my finger in my mouth to see if I could easily peel off the dried glue with my teeth. To my suprise, the glue was not yet completely hard. In fact, it was still very wet. In the process of trying to "peel" it off, I coated my tongue with it, and in a moment of panic, I tried scraping the ready-to-stick glue off my tongue with my teeth. My tongue immediately adhered to my front bottom teeth.
Meanwhile my other hand was glued to my glasses, because you NEVER have just one drop of Super Glue to contend with, and all the excess glue had seeped onto the fingers that were pinching the glasses frame closed. I gave my hand a flail and sent my glasses smashing into the wall, taking a few layers of finger skin with them.
I rushed to the bathroom to see if there was some way I could unstick my tongue from my teeth and scrape the nastiness out of my mouth. A quick yank peeled my tongue off my teeth, and a brisk rubbing of the toothbrush forced most of the glue off my tongue.
I'm still not sure how to get the damn glue off my teeth. This will probably require the assistance of a trained dental professional, and I'm not sure if I can repeat this story to anyone other than The Internet.
And there you have it. This was my December the First. Aren't you jealous that it wasn't YOUR December the First?
