Take your average Friday evening (ie: several rum-n-tonics, with lime).
One recently gifted pair of diamond earrings.
One loose earring back.
One 2 1/2 year old boy.
Realize that ONE of these recently gifted, PROBABLY expensive earrings is GONE.
Frantically dial the numbers of EVERY PLACE you have been that day.
Mumble MANY panic-stricken "fuck!!"s under your breath in between every call.
Get down on your knees and comb the carpet while lacing the air with "Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. FUCK!!!"
Cry while thinking "oh fuck!!".
Repeat for 3-4 hours.
Answer the doorbell to find your neighbor standing on your doorstop. With a diamond earring. That he found on his driveway while SWEEPING it (who does this??).
Collapse into hysterical, grateful tears. Kiss neighbor.
Wander back into your house, grateful that the universe loves you again.
Watch 2 1/2 year old wander around the kitchen, saying "Fuuuuuccckkk???? Fuck. FucK!! (giggle) Fugggedity!!".
Open door to basement, YELL to OddJob (who has managed to miss the last 3-4 drama filled hours) "DID YOU JUST HEAR WHAT YOUR SON IS SAYING?????" .
Watch OddJob as he beats feet upstairs, redfaced and panicky, apologizing all over the place.
Smirk behind OddJobs back for 2 years.
Confess later after a few too many rum punches. Smirk. Because that is what FINALLY gets him back for the 'great tattoo incident of 1997'.
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1 comment:
I knew I was cursing too much when I dropped a container of blueberries all over the produce section of our swanky grocery store and heard my 4-year-old say Son of a Bitch! with her perfect little Texas twang.
Everyone around giggled, but I was mortified.
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