Clean up in Aisle Seven

"So I heard you're a writer now?"
The question itself was enough to make me flustered. But then there was the person who was asking it. Someone from my high school past, which is never good as high school me was very nerdy (I think maybe prerequisite to become writer). We knew each other through mutual friends, and there was some interest expressed back and forth which culminated in a brief and awkward encounter in a damp basement bedroom that featured dark paneling blanketed with pinup models.


But now there we were, fifteen years later. Grown ups in a supermarket, scouting the canned goods. Both married now, with three kids apiece (from what I can glean from facebook). He had one in tow.
I was not sure how to answer the question. Not at all.
"No," I said, regarding him with a look of confusion.  I'm not sure where he would have gotten that impression. Creeping Facebook much? But even my Facebook feed is full mainly of travel pictures and boring updates about dance recitals and play dates and flu shots. (Boring, I know.)"I wouldn't say that."

He appeared flustered, waves a hand dismissively. "I thought I heard that. I try to keep up on things..." he said, his voice faltering as his son (fivish?)dashed down the aisle and he trailed off after him.
"I  try to write," I qualified. "But I haven' exactly 'made it'. Yet,"
"No I'm sure you're writing is good," he says,  distracted as he chases after his son. "Anyways, take good care" And then he leaves, chasing said son. "Good to see you," I call after him.

Well that went well, I think to myself, handling my can of green beans. I think of things I could have said.
"I write grocery lists!" which would have been clever because of, well setting. Or "I still have my day job!"

Terrible timing too. Of course I had to have woken up this morning with an abscessed tooth (must go to dentist ASAP, only am terrified of dentist. Am dealing with problem in the meantime with expired Amoxicillin I found in cupboard, salt water rinses and Ibuprofen). My lower lip is swollen. I wasn't wearing any make up and I had hastily pulled my hair into a pony tail before heading out to the grocery store. It just goes to show: always be prepared.

Not my first awkward encounter in supermarket, I thought, recalling a conversation I'd had with an Iranian immigrant who was the mother of a friend of a friend. We talked, and she regaled me with the price of short ribs in broken English. When leaving, she drew me into a hug and told me she loved me. I didn't know what to say, so I said "I love you too," and kissed her on the cheek, which I felt quite strange about but I wasn't sure what the protocol was in that situation.
Anyways, supermarket conversations are not my strong suit.

Mood Music Miss

So my husband and I made an appointment to have sex.

Yes it has come to that. Otherwise would never happen. The time was set for 9:45. Kids were in bed, ducks were in a row and the stars were aligned and we were going to have sex. Was very excited. Had been a long time re: three kids, period, and pork chop/cancer scare.

We met promptly in the bedroom at 9:45. I had lit a candle and put on lacy lingerie.
My husband plugs in his phone and starts playing music. 80's love ballads. Nice touch.
We begin to kiss and suddenly things seem a bit contrived. The candle, the music. It is all feeling a bit staged. Like maybe in  low budget soft porn or possibly Viagra commercial. I try to shake these thoughts loose and relax.
"She's like the wind" bellows in my ears.
I stifle a laugh and try to focus. For some reason song feels ridiculous and wrong. Has feminine hygiene commercial type overtones. I can almost picture a seagull gliding overhead.
Why are there seagulls in feminine hygiene commercials anyways? Maybe is symbol... of something? Freedom?
Must focus.
Maybe next song will be better.

Becomes like name that tune as opening cords of next song begin. Familiar yet... can't place it.
"Tonight I celebrate my love for you."
I can't. I can't do it. I sit up abruptly.
I fumble for the phone and switch the playlist to make out songs.
Maybe will be better.
First song: is called "The bitch must die"
Seems a little overly aggressive. Seriously Songza:  In who's world is above named song a 'make out song'?
Serial killers, maybe. Or S&M Mafia drug lords, if exist. Not sure.
Switch around stations and songs and themes and moods, turning up song after song. Nothing seems appropriate. Husband getting mad, trying to wrangle phone away from me.
"Just leave it" he says as the opening cords of "Heart Attack" by Demi Levato play.
I lay back, resigned. Is improvement, maybe.
But no. Still does not feel right. Feels vaguely Grade 10ish.
Not that Demi Levato was a thing when I was in grade 10.
Well maybe she was.
An embryo.
Not that I was having sex in Grade 10, either.
Not the point.
Anyways, was debacle.

Monday Morning Mayhem

Mon Oct 21, 2013

Wonderful weekend. Took kids Halloween costume shopping, was really fun. Went to fun factory. Made Play dough with Kool Aid.  Went to library and returned books (on time!). Felt like very good parent. Ordered book order for Payton (though not sure star projector constitutes “book” but irrelevant) Very capable and fun mother. Minor incident with oven starting on fire while cooking wholesome dinner for kids (OK- was frozen pizza but still.)

Was in happy mood, especially in light of fact that cancer scare turned out to be pork chop. Had sore on gums that was very irritated feeling. Looked at it in mirror and became convinced was cancer. Whitish mass like lesion protruding from gum line. Bleeds when picked at. Hurts to eat. Finally came dislodged and realized that it was pork chop piece, not cancer! Good news!

And then came Monday morning.

A blurred rush of scrambling around, trying to find socks that match, eventually giving up and trying to convince kids that mismatched socks are fun! Out of milk. Out of bread. Maybe should have spent more time on the weekend getting provisions instead of dancing around in costume store wearing funny sunglasses. Try to convince kids that cheese and apples is very acceptable breakfast. Made it to school on time (barely) although Alex upset because he was hoping to have to go to the office to get a “late scrip” (no idea). Rip off his jacket and leave him standing in hallway, looking miserable. Don’t feel bad for him as is his fault for refusing to get out of bed promptly. Must be firm. Funloving weekend mother is gone.

Five minutes later, feel heart wrenching bad for him. Sick feeling on way to work. Fight urge to turn around and scoop him from school in a giant hug and stay at home with him all day wearing pyjamas and watching Scooby Doo. Think about his sad little face and feel terrible. Am terrible mother.