Thursday, November 3, 2016

How To Kill Your Mother In Home Depot In Just One Easy Step

So last night J picks me up for dinner and to run around and just do whatever. We eat at a new place (for him). An 'old people' place, meaning in there we were spring chickens. And then the excitement comes--we have to stop at Home Depot for brass brads. I know what you're thinking: Stop! the excitement is too much! But as an aside, being with someone who makes everything seem fun is pretty awesome.

NOW back to my story! We go to Home Depot and I of course, somehow, don't ask me how, end up toting hardwood for the fire pit around the whole store. I'm the only person I know who can go into a store for nothing and end up with something like that.

The brads turn out to be a bust but then...we need wood something. Not glue. Wood filler. I think. Pretty sure. Yep, that's it.

So we go down the aisles and my phone goes off, a text from girl child, and I open it up and this is what I see:



And then my heart drops out of my body and I'm dead. Thank god at that point J was carrying the big thing of wood.

Of course, J hears this horrific gasp and turns around. I'm clutching my heart and light headed but I have managed to read the very small one line message BELOW those photos that says:

"Playing with Latex"

So I show him and he starts laughing. Granted, I got the whole soothing calm down back rub circles, but the bastard laughed the whole time while blood returned to my head and my face and my brain. It felt like it has all left.

Girl child is an artist. You know that. She can draw and paint and make things with clay that are shown at the Baltimore Museum of Art. She can write and she can fucking sing. And now she's branching into the world of movie makeup. Which I love. I even bought her a magazine one time in the Barnes and Noble and J and I watch back episodes of Face Off with her religiously. But that almost killed me.

So he's chuckling and my hands stop shaking enough for me to call her on my cell and I'm like "Uh...you think next time you can send me a message before that says something like: HEY I'M GONNA SEND SOME MAKEUP PICS. I AM NOT DYING. I DO NOT NEED PARAMEDICS?"

He's still fucking laughing. She's baffled. And apologetic. And finally I say, "But good job, though."
"What?"
"Good job. I literally thought I was going to pass out. That means you did a good fucking job."

And then for a few hours I still felt like I'd left my heart near the wood filler in Home Depot.

The end.

XOXO
Sommer

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