A maxi pad, despite its absorbency, does not do well as a tissue (and other lessons learned)
A maxi pad, despite its absorbance-based purpose, doesn’t cut it as a substitute for kleenex. Yesterday, while shopping with my mom and sister and bratchild–I got the phone call I had been waiting for and learned that even if you expect something and even if you think you’re okay with it, bad news can still sting. My thoughts on journalism can wait for another post; important life lessons? Let’s get on to those.
Back to the first: maxi pads don’t work well as kleenex. I wouldn’t even suggest trying it as I have already tested it out for you, therefore sparing you the hassle. Picture this: sitting on a curb behind a Sephora loading dock, toting Louis and wearing a black Lilly Pulitzer Cassie Dress while crying. Please note, I am NOT a pretty crier–which is part of the reason I don’t do it. Well, that and public displays of intense emotion make me incredible and like the Barenaked Ladies crooned, I’m the kind to laugh at a funeral (which I did way before their stupid song and only happens because I am THAT uncomfortable.)
Rummaging through my ginormous handbag, which I suspect is slightly akin to Mary Poppins’ except mine only expands when I am looking for things in an effort to hide them. ALL I can find in said handbag that is absorbent is above-mentioned maxi pad. Other than that, there were about a billion lipglosses and Tarte Lip Stains in various finishes and shades, a mini tripod, my Huntsville Times badge and more lipglosses. Since I desperately need to blow my nose, I whip open the pad, peel the backing off the wings and blow my nose smack into the center of it. Then, realizing I need to dry my eyes, attempt to work my way around the snotty center while trying to keep the damn sticky “wings” from attaching to my face or eyelashes. I had seen some Diamond Jubilee pocket tissues earlier in the day at World Market and didn’t think they were practical. Lesson learned: carry some kleenex or at least a piece of tissue so you’re not the crying freak on the curb with a damn Always with Wings stuck to your face.
If someone ever walks into your home and says they need to go to a DSW and an ABC Store–do not laugh at them, do not pass Go and do not collect cash–get your ass in the car and drive them. If my family had followed the above now set-in-stone rule, the following cacophony of hilarity would not have occurred. The wine store was closer so I went there and skipped the ABC store.
Me: I’m looking for adult juice boxes.
Wine clerk: Excuse me?
Me: They’re pink and bubbly and have mini straws attached.
Wine clerk: Do you know what they’re called?
Me: If I knew, I would have opened with that.
Wine clerk: Let’s see what we can find. These? The Sofias?
Me: Fabulous! I’m from Alabama and I don’t think you can get these there. I’m so excited! I should bring a bunch home.
Wine clerk: There’s no limit on how many you can buy.
Me: I will have to come back. Why aren’t these kept in the cooler, you know, in case of emergency? They’re supposed to be chilled.
Wine clerk: Can I see your ID?
Wine clerk: You’re not lying, you are from Alabama. Did you know your license is expired?
Me (tearing up): No. I’m going to need that not to be an issue right now.
Wine clerk: You’re total is $18.28. Have a nice night.
I took my unchilled mini champagne adult juice boxes and trotted myself over to DSW as I needed a new running shoes. A realization I came to about an hour previously when I went running through a park and slipped on mud and fell in a creek in my no-tread left running shoes. Boot Camp Joe of Huntsville Adventure Boot Camp for Women would be so proud: both that I went running voluntarily AND that I recognized the need for new shoes (and not just ones covered in glitter–read on.)
I took a brief breather to call my hubs who asked what I was doing, when I said running, he asked, “from?” Nice.
So I’m at DSW looking at running shoes and since they are RUNNING shoes, not stand around and be pretty and pretend you have nice calves but really it’s just the five-inch heels (higher heels = defined looking calves) I decide to run around the store in them to test their comfort. FYI, the staff at DWS does NOT appreciate you lacing up their sneakers, carrying your shoes in one hand with your handbag slung over an elbow and jogging up and down the aisles of the store. Bouncing in place? Equally unappreciative of that move.
Even if he looks like him AND talks exactly like him, the cashier at Wal-Mart does not appreciate being called Apu. Still not the case when it’s a compliment because even “who needs the kwik-e-mart” Apu is FAR more pleasant than the Awful Apu at the Wal-Mart. Switching to Michael Jackson when you realize he’s only donned one plastic glove? Also not a crowd pleaser.
Ditto goes for calling the freakishly pale, slightly rounded man in the 10 items or less line who has 34 items (I counted) the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Sometimes it’s okay to drive the wrong way down a one way street. Particularly if there’s no traffic, no one is around, you’re lost and/or it would be super inconvenient to find a street going the correct way.
A car wash tunnel is not an exit from a parking lot.
Glitter makes most everything better. In an attempt to cheer me up, mom bought me a pair of multi-colored glitter wedge flip flops at Macy’s.
In summation? Nothing soothes a sick tummy like a real Coke or Canada Dry Ginger Ale. Laughter is always helpful. There’s no such thing as too many Christmas lights. Never use the nail polish at nail salons: bring your own since they often water theirs down and it won’t stay on as long. Don’t mix beer with liquor, beer with wine or champagne with anything. KY Jelly will stretch out tight spots on leather shoes. Lift with your legs. Don’t take a hit on 17. Sparkle. Always.