What idiot lost my car key?
It’s not like I had a long list of idiots to choose from: It would either be your father, or me. But it definitely was not me. Why would it be, being that it’s my car, and oh yeah, I was the last one to drive it. I should call him. Ask him what he did with it. Where did he put it??? See? When you always put something back in the right spot, you’ll always know where to look for it!!! (since I’m probably screwing you guys up as we speak with this Guantanamo-worthy torture method called potty training, you’ll get this and be “anal” like me, says Freud). (Look at me! First day back from vacation, being smart, quoting Freud!)
…I found my car key! Next to a tied up plastic bag of puke-covered clothes in the trunk! Right where it should be!
When we got home from our trip yesterday afternoon and saw we had no food in the house, we went grocery shopping. Where should we go? Stop & Shop? I don’t feel like dealing with that. North Shore Farms?? Ugh, the parking lot. (Back not even an hour, and here come the little tasks, chipping away at that breezy vacation mentality of it being ok to consume nothing but chips and salsa and white wine spritzers in a 24 hr period.) We settled on North Shore Farms–if your father handled the deli counter–where you ate so many free samples of cheese, Baby Boy, you threw up at the check-out line. What’s a word I can use to describe that moment it takes to process disaster? Ah, we were paralyzed. In that one nanosecond of paralyzation, a lady slipped on it. (It was a chunky one.) I took you guys outside and dealt with that disaster, while your father handled the disaster inside.
Which brings me to… the key.
There it was, next to the plastic bag I forgot about in the trunk overnight, ample time to diffuse its wretched cheese smell into the air, like a Glade plug-in, but totally different.
Miraculously I got us in the car and to camp on-time.
After dropping you off, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror and saw I had a bloody nose, and a little white-head zit in between my nostrils. (I look so great and refreshed back from vacation! See also: chips, salsa and wine). So I squeezed the zit, naturally, and got that lovely white puss on the mirror which I wiped off with a tissue, and then I rolled that tissue up into a plug and shoved that up my nose.
And I drove like that, flipping through the channels, stopping at Sirius Xm’s Siriusly Sinatra.
Sammy Davis Jr. was belting out “I Gotta Be Me.”
Whether I’m right or whether I’m wrong
Whether I find a place in this world or never belong
I gotta be me, I’ve gotta be me
What else can I be but what I am
I cranked the volume because that’s a really good song, don’t you think?