Even Steven is chortling at his cleverness this week. And last. It has become The Fortnight of Youth.
Yes. Youth who thwart Mrs. Hillbilly Mom at every turn. Close-talking phlegm-hackers, gum-doling intruders, lap-running juvenile shoppers, kitty-clobbering kiddos. Anything to balance out that $40 scratch-off winner today.
Also today, as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom cart-walkered her way through The Devil's Playground, she found it necessary to visit the facilities. Not immediately necessary, but as a preventative measure after having already detoured to her mom's house, and still having three other stops to make on the way home.
One thing that can be said about Hilllmomba's Devil's Playground...the restroom is always clean. Unfortunately for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's recently blood-pressured bladder, the restroom this morning was full of vermin. Oh. Did I say vermin? What I meant to say was full of a family of children. I think. Because these children were heard but not seen. Except for one who got loose.
This restroom has three regular stainless-steel stalls, and a big handicap suite on the end. The door to the handicap suite was closed, but from it came the grunting sound of a young 'un pinchin' off a log. From the chatter, I daresay there was half a tee ball team behind the barrier.
For a moment, I contemplated one of the open stalls. Nah! Not worth it. I could hold it until I got back home. Because every time I take that chance when a family is facilitizing, one of those young 'uns gets loose and runs along peering under the doors of the stalls. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not cotton to nosy apron-string-escapees spectating upon her toilet activities. Her elimination business is none of their business.
So I stepped over to the sink and smoothed down that flap of hair that the wind had blown over my part, which The Pony had said looked just fine. And at that moment, a little girl ran out and stood behind me, staring at my face in the mirror.
If only people had real invisibility cloaks to preserve their privacy. Or burlap bags to put over the heads of nosy gawkers.
Burlap bags and a puff of chloroform--now we're talkin'!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteI would imagine that chloroform is regulated. But after that RN in the recovery room told me how she got formaldehyde from a funeral home to bring her dead shark home from Florida...maybe it isn't.
Ahhh, the shy bladder. I am happy to report that I can empty mine under most circumstances, which is a good thing, cause when you gotta go .... you gotta go!
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteSome people might carry a walking stick to dissuade the inquisitive urchins from peering under the door...