Sometimes I seriously doubt the intelligence of anyone in my little family. Speaking of the nuclear family, I guess I could probably introduce them to you.
First of all there is me, The Pippi, and I'm not sure there is any further explanation needed. Then there is Ford Man, who, heaven help me, makes 'Tim the Tool Man Taylor' from "Home Improvement" look like a genius. Next there is my oldest son, Zex. Please don't ask where that name came from because it is not his birth name. All I know is one day he came forth from his man cave and announced to everyone that from "this day forward, I shall be known as Emperor Zex". I refuse, however, to cater to his delusion of being an emperor. Lastly, my youngest boy, Scooter, who y'all have heard 'bout in my previous adventure. He's a Momma's boy, unfortunately. I truly believe if it was humanly possible he would be content to crawl back into my womb and stay.
Any hoo, the reason for this post. Of the four of us, two have a college education; being Zex and myself. Yet, somehow, there are days when I seriously question our level of intelligence.
For example. Zex was performing his male pre-courting ritual and I had gone to the kitchen to wash dishes. All of a sudden there was a loud thump and the whole floor shook. I thought what on earth has happened? My gosh, surely the washing machine didn't explode??? Then I heard the cackling laughter coming from the living room. So, I went to see what was going on.
There sat Zex in the floor clad in his boxers, t-shirt, and socks laughing hysterically. The ottoman had been moved about two feet from its normal placement. One of our dogs, Poopster, was crouched down in the floor licking his backside and Scooter stood in the doorway shaking his head. I said, "What in the world is going on here guys?" They both busted out laughing.
Zex, feeling frisky as many young 20 something year olds do, had decided to replicate the scene from Risky Business where Tom Cruise slides through the living room dressed much the same as Zex is. Unfortunately, Zex underestimated the effect a freshly clean wood floor and the grip of his socks, so instead of sliding neatly across the floor, Zex's feet gave way which resulted in him hitting the floor with all 180 pounds of himself. Sigh. Poor Poopster had gotten tangled up in Zex's flailing legs and was sent airborne for about 1.5 feet, crashing into the entertainment center thusly explaining Poopster's obsession with licking his backside.
All I can do is shake my head since evidently the only thing truly injured was Zex's pride. And it would be so wonderful to say that was the least of the stupid things which has occurred today, but, alas, as fate would have it, it's not.
I have an obsession with crushed ice and my refrigerator doesn't produce crushed ice. I decided to make a pot of decaf ice tea and opened the freezer door only to discover my bag of crushed ice was gone. Great, I thought, sighly loudly. In order to have more crushed ice I must drive to the only place in this land of nowhere which is about 10 miles from my house. So, I gathered up the few bills which can't be paid online (remember, I live in the middle of nowhere) and set out to kill two birds with one stone.
After dropping the bills in the mail I popped over to the gas station/country store for the ice. I paid my $1.30 to the cashier and headed back outside to the bin. Upon opening the door I found that there were only 5 bags left in the bin, all of them lying in a straight line on the bottom. Now Pippi comes from a genetic line where our females tend to be on the short and round side; short not just in height but in arm length as well.
Another heavy sigh escaped my lips as I pondered exactly how I was going to go about snatching one of those bags. The store was busy and there were several cars at the pumps but I didn't see anyone whom I could possibly con into getting one for me.
So, I snuck a quick look around to make sure no one was going to be witness to what was going to happen next. I flung open the door, hoisted myself through the door, leaning far into the bin. Even with this great effort my fingertips barely caught the edge of the bag. I adjusted my fingers and was able to secure a better grip, but the bag wouldn't budge. I thought you've gotta be kidding me. I tried again to pull on the bag end but I pulled a little too hard. The plastic end broke loose from the rest of the bag sending me flying back through the door of the bin only to fall back onto the hood of a parked car. The only thing that could have made this any worse would have been if the car alarm had went off.
I stood up and dusted my backside off. I stood there a few minutes looking at the ice bin. Finally the young guy who was behind the register in the store came out and asked me if I needed any help. I said, "Yes, I'm a little too short to safely get a bag when they're at the bottom". He kinda chuckled and said, "Yeah, we noticed you through the window". With that he reached in, grabbed a bag of ice, and handed it to me. I looked at him and said, "Thanks. Now you do realize there is a penalty for laughing at a short, fat woman, right?"He shook his head in the negative and I told him, "Yeah, that punishment is known as hell". He roared with laughter as he walked away.
Now I'm back home, safely, with my bag of ice. I have poured myself a tall glass of tea and debated whether or not to share today's events. Yeah, it's embarrassing but ah what the heck. It'll make someone else feel good about himself.
Have a great day everyone!
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