Saturday, March 28, 2009

Tit for Tat

I'm accused of being a tit-for-tatter.  Well, if I'm a tit-for-tat kind of girl, then you're a lazy sot! See, there I go again.  I'm not saying they're wrong, but the scales are forever tilted, and they need righting.  

I hauled my weary ass out of bed this Saturday morning, to go meet a potential handyman at one of the rental properties.  Vildy has some kind of sore throat and accompanying Giant Pussy disorder, so he got to be a head on a pillow, while I drove the 35 minutes, again, to the m-effing rental property du jour.  Because of his terminal case of whineasitis,  added to my sojourn was a visit to the Auto Zone on Scuzz Avenue, Cleveland Heights, so I could get his check engine light diagnosed.  

After that it was a stop at Marc's, the poor people's grocery store, where I now shop for dented cans of corn to feed my budget fatigued family.  The lines there are not short. Apparently we are not alone in our love of canned corn.  At Marc's they have not yet discovered the scanner, the conveyer belt, the credit card swiper or whole grain bread.  Which is why its cheap and why I shop there, writing my check and showing my driver's license for the first time in eight years.  

At Marc's you can find boxes of Quisp Cereal, and King Vitamin, by the way for those of you who, like myself, are connoisseurs of the boxed breakfast jewels.   I'm not sure if these are the same exact boxes from my youth, or if there is in fact a post 70's distributer of these off-brands, but no matter, they can be found at Marc's. Checking the date is your problem.

In line, listening to acrylic nails tap out the prices of my Suave shampoo and ground beef, I feel a sudden and urgent clamping down in my bowels.  My sister and I call this SP, code name for Sphincter Poke, which, as you may imagine is an urgent call to arms.  But this is Marc's.  They cannot suspend a sale here without a sign off from the assistant manager who is selling baby formula from behind the locked pharmacy counter.  

I am sweating with the effort and urgency of my predicament.  Those two giant cans of Folgers coffee are still a manicure away and I don't know, I just don't know...  Someone butts in to ask the price of some colored plastic easter eggs.  For mercy! I hear my duodenum cry. 

I am granted a stay of execution by some sympathetic force in my colon and make it to the car to load the groceries, and then to the nearby Sears for ultimate relief. Praise Allah. 

At home I discover not unexpectedly that my four year old son has been staring at screens for the past three hours, my daughter is unsupervised in the yard, and Vild would very much like me to make him a sandwich.  

When I shoo everyone away and ask what anyone's done for me lately, they all stare at me with wide hurt eyes, accuse me of being cranky, tell me not to be so mean.  Now I have to go, someone needs soup and a widdle sammy, and while I'm up, could I watch the kids, he's feeling a little nappy.

I've given my tit, now where's my fucking Tat?

 









4 comments:

  1. oh my god. you will be publishing a book very, very soon. I had to read the SP part out loud to Bob (who is just now learning to fart as loudly as I do pretty much 24/7).
    BRAVO!!!

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  2. I'll take a box of Quisp, a King Vitamin, and if you throw in a box of Kaboom! I'll let you have full credit for "S.P." which was actually coined by me n' Russ in Vermont, back in 1985.

    "GPD" is deadly, by the way (often results in Spouse-a-cide.) Vild must be treated immediately. A tongue-lashing alone is merely palliative.

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  3. Need to retract part of that last comment. My sister has pointed out that she was indeed in Vermont the weekend "SP" was coined. It was, in fact, something of a group effort. We were a carload of people who had made the terrible miscalculation of visiting a used bookstore after a big breakfast. I had forgotten that one of the severely strained sphincters was hers.

    Apologies, Sis. But I'd still like that box of Kaboom!

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  4. oh jess, this made me cry! in a good way. i mean in a i've-been-there way. i know we haven't seen each other in 20 years, and even then we didn't know each other that well, but i feel like giving you a big big hug!
    thanks for sharing your blog --from one isolated, non-joining mom to another!

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