Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Blurred Lines and Tall Tales

Unless you have been living under a rock (yet strangely have access to this obscure little blog), you have probably heard Robin Thicke’s song “Blurred Lines.”  It’s a wildly popular hit single that has basically become the summer anthem of 2013.  It’s nearly impossible to hear this song and not sing along or shake that ass.  The single is undeniably sexy, and contains lines such as “must wanna get nasty” and “let me be the one you bare that ass to.”  This is why I was a bit shocked when this song recently came on the radio and my two-year-old daughter demanded, “Turn it up!” However, she does love to dance and thus loves a good beat (regardless of the asinine lyrics), so I did her bidding and we both sang “hey – hey – hey – hey” and wiggled in our seats while cruising in the minivan (yeah, I roll hard). 

More shocking than her demand for increased volume to this sexy single was the proclamation that followed as she informed me, “This is Daddy’s song!”  Daddy’s song? What? The sexy summer anthem that talks about liberating good girls who are really animals by nature? This is Daddy’s song? The fuck?

This didn’t confuse me because I’m some sort of jealous wife who believes my spouse should only think about sex as it relates directly to me. Rather, it puzzled me because I would have never associated my husband with such a sexy, confident song.  Truth be told, my husband doesn’t exactly ooze sexuality or confidence.  I realize that sounds like a totally bitchy statement, but let me provide you with a little scenario.  Before we were coupled, my husband and I were close friends.  I always thought he was a very pleasant individual, and hoped that he would find a girl to make him happy (at that time not even considering said girl could actually be me).  As I hoped he would find a satisfying relationship, I would often encourage him to approach women.  On one of these occasions, he told me, “Angela, enough! For real, what am I supposed to say? Hey, want to come over here and share some awkward silence with me?”

Daddy’s song is “Freakish” by Saves the Day, okay? Not Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines”!

But, maybe, just maybe, Daddy was living some sort of secret life I didn’t know about.  Maybe he could actually be confident, suave, and debonair.  So, I let my suspicions get the better of me, and inquired about my husband’s activities when I was recently away for a week .   “Emily,” I asked my daughter, “Did daddy have any women over while Mommy was on vacation?”

“Yes,” she answered, with a smile and a giggle.  It appeared that Emily was aware of her father’s awkward nature, and thus found some humor in her reply.

“He did!” I said, shocked, but also not truly believing a word my daughter was now telling me.  Despite the fact that I gave no merit to her response, I continued to play along.  I then questioned, “How many women did Daddy have over?” 

“Eight,” she answered with another big grin.  For some reason, her favorite numbers are eight and nine.  When we recently had a garage sale, she attempted to charge every customer “nine dollars” regardless of their actual purchase. They would look at me, and I’d have to explain she had favorite numbers and then confirm that no, they really only owed me fifty cents for whatever crap they were taking off my hands.

“Eight!” I yelled, with even more animated astonishment.  “Hmmm … what did Daddy do with these women?  Did he hug them and kiss them?”  If “Blurred Lines” was Daddy’s song, he must have hugged and kissed these women, right?  The lyrics do say, “You wanna hug me. What rhymes with hug me?”  Pure brilliance! Give that man a Grammy! (sarcasm font)

“Yes, Mommy!” she answered, “He kiss the women.”

Later, I informed my husband of this exchange with my daughter.  It wasn’t a confrontation; it was simply a comical conversation.  He looked to my daughter and said, “Oh, Emily! You are full of beans!  Did we also ride a unicorn on the moon while Mommy was gone?”

“Yes!” she nodded her head and squealed in delight.

We both laughed at our adorable little daughter, and then my husband told her, “Alright Emily, it’s time to tell the truth.”

“Okay,” she said, “I tell the truth.”

I then proceeded to ask her about my husband’s escapades during my absence.  “Alright, Emily, did Daddy really have women over when Mommy was on vacation?”

“Yes,” she stated quite matter-of-factly.

I knew that my mother and his mother had both been over to help out with the children while he was working and I was away, so this answer was acceptable.  “How many women, Emily?”

Despite loving the numbers eight and nine, she did tell the truth this time and replied, “Two.”

“Were they beautiful young women, Emily?” I then inquired.

“No, Mommy, they old ladies.”

Old ladies! Yes! That’s what I was hoping to hear!   I knew my husband was still the freakish, awkward, but loyal and loving man I married, and my daughter is just a silly, imaginative wonder.  I was very satisfied with the truth, and very amused with Emily’s tall tales regarding “Blurred Lines.”



Monday, July 29, 2013

Employee of the Year

If you live in Wisconsin, you have surely found yourself at a water park at least once in your lifetime.  You have splashed in the wave pools, floated down the lazy river, and slid down tube slides with names like Anaconda, Black Death, and other such terms meant to simultaneously incite terror and excite your endorphins. 

I was at one of these waterparks with a group of friends when we were all happily playing in the large wave pool.  We bobbed up and down in the waves and splashed each other as we gleefully smiled and giggled.  We were all enjoying ourselves when I spotted “it” bobbing on the waves – edging ever nearer to me.  The object seemed determined to approach me, skillfully making its way among skinny teenage girls in bikinis and overweight old men in highly inappropriate speedos.  Were my eyes deceiving me?  I hoped this was the case as the small white object heaved itself up to the top of a wave and then dipped momentarily back underneath the water.  As the wave brought the white, cotton item back above the surface, however, it became abundantly clear what now floated just inches from me.  I looked around for anyone to save me from my most certain impending doom. 
No Hero Here!

I spotted a young employee – wearing sunglasses and the red swim trunks that identified him as staff.  He had a whistle around his neck that made him seem important despite his scrawny body and teenaged acne.  I hollered up to him hoping for a hero, “Hey! Hey, kid!  There’s a tampon in the water!” I yelled frantically while pointing at the foreign object, which I assumed was dispelled as some female plunged down one of those terrifying slides like the Anaconda. 

I hoped he would dive into the water and scoop up the object, promptly removing it and thus freeing me to enjoy the rest of this time with my friends.  Rather, he looked at me, looked at the object, and then shrugged his shoulders as he stated, “Meh.  It will be floating down the lazy river pretty soon.” 

I yelled back at him, “Ugh! That’s soooooo gross!” but he once again only shrugged and ignored me.

Was something wrong with me? Did I need to just calm the fuck down? I mean, what’s a little tampon floating in the water really?  At least it wasn’t a turd.  Maybe I need to just learn not to sweat the small stuff.  “Keep calm and carry on,” right? No; no.  That shit was gross, and that little fucker was lazier than the river the tampon was soon to be floating upon, according to his expertise.  

So, no, I didn’t keep calm and float on.  I left the wave pool and continued to complain about that lazy little bastard who just shrugged his shoulders at me. As  I now recall my encounter with the employee of the fucking year, I can only hope that if you have likewise been to a waterpark and are able to readily recall your time in the wave pool, may those memories not be sullied by a defector tampon because “Ugh! That’s sooooo gross!”