Sorry it took so long to get this up. I actually forgot that I was supposed to finish it. Thank you, Lucille, for the kick in the mmmmm… reminder. I’m thinking I had a mental block caused by post-traumatic stress?!?!? LOL! OK – here goes.
Part III – Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?
Every Tuesday I put a minimum of 160 miles on my car. I drive 36 miles to pick up Daughter at the County Juvenile Residential Center (CJRC) to drive 45 miles to her counselor’s office for her weekly appointment. Then back to CJRC and back home. I have fibromyalgia. All of this driving has a tendency to make my muscles, joints, bones, (and some days even my hair) hurt. After each leg of the drive it is important that I stand up and stretch to loosen everything back up. Today, after finally making it back to my end of the world, I had to stop at Lowe’s before going home. As usual, I got out of the car and stretched. First, sitting in the car with my legs out on the pavement, I stretch my thigh and calf muscles, and twirl my feet to loosen up my ankles. Then I stand up, stretch to the four corners, twist my shoulders left and right, and arch my back.
I typically park pretty far out so that I get some exercise walking from the car to the store. Today, however, I lazied out and parked closer. I didn’t think about the fact that lots of people park closer. I also didn’t think about the fact that I would be putting on a show.
When I wheeled into my parking spot I noticed that an old, beat-up, rust bucket of a truck pulled into a spot two spaces down in front of me. I noticed only because the thought went through my mind that Jed Clampett would have been embarrassed to drive that heap! Imagine how amused I was, then, when Jed’s older, uglier cousin (we’ll call him Old Guy With No Front Teeth or “Oggy” for short) emerged grinning like an old jack donkey on a 3-day bender. We briefly made eye contact as I put the car in park and took off my seatbelt. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his face never changing expression. I didn’t really think anything else about it and so went about my normal business of relieving the tension in my muscles.
I extended my legs, twisted my shoulders, and elongated my neck muscles, then stood up to stretch my back. I was so absorbed in my actions that it was not until I was in mid-back-arch that I realized that Oggy had stopped and was WATCHING ME! Well, he wasn’t actually watching ALL of me! He was only eyeing my frontal protrusions! Now, I’m kind of use to having people stare at my breasts. Heck, I’d stare at them, too, if I wasn’t the one wearing them around all the time!!! You see, I’m one of those girls you normal chicks made fun of in the locker room in 6th grade and then hated in high school. I developed very early and, sadly, have not seen my feet without great effort since I was about 13. Add a cup size for each pregnancy (mine NEVER went back down!) and some weight gain (eg: Hubby use to tell people I was built like a brick outhouse; I tell people I still am, now I’m just a double-wide, two-holer!), and I could now get filthy rich if they ever perfected breast transplants because I could easily supply enough tissue for at least half of the women in the state of Rhode Island. Oggy, I figured, was just like a lot of breast men I’ve known: curious but harmless. But he kept standing there. Staring. With that drunk snaggletoothed donkey grin on his face.
After a second or two, I became very uncomfortable with his attention and moved to get into the store as quickly as possible. Once inside I’d lose him – or so I thought. About every third time I looked up, Oggy was there, trying very hard to be inconspicuous as he side-eyed my every move. I found myself trying, unsuccessfully, to minimize the motion of my frontal ocean because the way Oggy kept ogling me I was afraid that he might develop his own frontal protrusion if I jiggled too much! Thank the Saints of Hardware that I have practically lived in Lowe’s since June, so I knew exactly where to go to find the stuff I needed and avoided those items that would require bending over or, God forbid, reaching up to snag them.
Finally, every(safe)thing in hand, I hurriedly headed to the checkout. But not fast enough! Oggy had grabbed a can of WD40 at our last stop and so innocently, accidentally ended up in line behind me. (At this point I was wishing I’d jiggled a little more so he maybe wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me quite so easily!) With one lady in front of me, I began anxiously looking around for a familiar face, and God bless his pea pickin’ little soul, my favorite little cashier supervisor popped out of the office just as I got to the register.
I was just reaching into my basket for the last of my stuff when Oggy finally got up the nerve to speak to me. He offered to help me pick up the big, heavy, plug and light switch covers, and a can of black spray paint. Awwww, sooo sweeet… His actions. NOT his breath. OH. MY. STARS! I was praying I wouldn’t get pulled over by the cops on the way home because I’d have failed a breathalyzer test just by having breathed his air!!! And then he asked me if I’d like to go somewhere for a drink. GO. SOMEWHERE. WITH HIM. FOR A DRINK. My mind screamed… OH HEEEELLLLLLLL NOOOOOOO!!!
I was proud of myself. I didn’t panic. Instead, I immediately (read: frantically) called out the supervisor’s name with what I hoped sounded like great delight and exaggerated enthusiasm, pulled him into a great big bear hug and whispered in his ear, “I’ll explain later. Please DO NOT let this guy follow me out of here!” With a very puzzled look on his face, he nodded, squeezed me back, and sent the cashier on an “errand.”
The last I saw of Oggy, he was rushing madly out the door of the store looking frantically from left to right, bobbing up and down, craning his neck for all he was worth trying to figure out where I went. Fortunately, my view of him was from the rearview mirror as I was pulling out of the parking lot. But, just in case he might have seen me, I took the very long, scenic route home.
Today, instead of my usual 160 miles, I drove about 175. It was worth just it to be sure there wasn’t an old, beat-up, rust bucket of a truck pulling in the driveway behind me with a jug of moonshine and a snaggletoothed donkey grin waggin’ out the window.
Wishing you Peace, Blessings, and at least good looking perverts!