I peed into a coffee cup while crouched down in the front seat of our car pulled over on the side of the Garden State Parkway, and perhaps the most disturbing part is the ease at which this was done.
As in, when given the choice between stopping the car after sitting in traffic for two hours with you guys and taking you into a rest stop in the cold, or choosing to drop trough in front of an appliance store in Paramus, contort my body to fit underneath the steering wheel as much as humanly possible, and fill up an old coffee cup with you guys cheering from the backseat “Mama, peepee!” I said obviously choice number two. No brainer!
How long ago was it that I was drinking martini’s at Strip House in the City? Was that really just last night that I was at a dinner with friends, so civilized, in high heels?
A man who looked remarkably like Kelsey Grammar had approached me while waiting for a friend at the bar. He told me he and his buddy had been analyzing “bar dynamics” (read: making judgments about people based on looks), and he said that they’d agreed, without a doubt, that I was friendly. “I bet a lot of people talk to you,” Kelsey said with a hunk of smarm.
I went on to tell him he was right. That a lot of people do talk to me. That strangers often stop to ask me the time or for directions. (Wow! How riveting must today’s dating scene be!) “Which is so funny,” I’d added, feeding right into it, “because I rarely wear a watch! I don’t know if it’s snowing on a Tuesday! Half the time I don’t know where I am on this planet! People end up leaving me more confused than they were when they approached!” Then I slid what I thought was my Amex platinum card to the bartender but turned out to be my Toys R Us rewards loyalty card. (You: “Yeah, see, clearly Dad has nothing to worry about.”)
When it came time to leave, I called a car and your Aunt Kerry said, “don’t you just hate taking a car? You just want to sit there, and they end up talking to you…”
I shrugged it off at the time– “eh, I don’t mind”–but then I got into my car and lord was my driver a chatter.
It was 11:30 p.m. and I was so tired and full having consumed a 24-layer chocolate cake (and then some), I did just want to sit and look out the window at the lights, like a baby blinking to focus. Wow!
But no, we talked about everything from Hurricane Sandy to how nice of a store Macy’s is.
We talked about life.
Before stepping out of the car onto our driveway the driver turned to me and said, “I wake up every morning, and as long as I can put two feet on the ground, I am okay…”
Inside I crawled into bed next to your father. It was 12:00m. He rolled over and told me he had a car picking him up to take him to the airport in four hours.
I told him to “wake me up before you go-go,” quoting the Wham! song of the same name.
(I vaguely remember him kissing me on the forehead around three.)
You’d think I’d be phased by any of this. But nah. Tonight we’re ordering pizza. (Oh crap, I actually need to go do this.) At some point I’ll go to bed after reading or watching bad television, or a little of both. And tomorrow morning when I hear you guys I’ll wake up. I’ll open my eyes and step onto the floor one foot at a time.