Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Big Girls Do Cry....Mascara
I'm driving to work, and this morning seemed no different than any other. The roads are starting to pick up with traffic. People bustling around, trying to get to work. I remember a call I need to make. To try once more to reach someone who had been unreachable up to that point.
I pull my cell phone out of my purse. Dial the number. It begins to ring, and she answers. I'm talking, she's talking, and suddenly it feels like someone has set my left eye on fire. I put my finger to my eye. I have no idea why. It's what comes natural when your eye feels as it's ablaze. Surprise. THAT makes it worse. Now both eyes are burning, why in the heck that is I don't know, and I'm blinking as hard and fast as my eyes will open and shut. My eyes are now POURING water, I'm still trying to talk, and alternately scrambling for a tissue. Guess what? No tissue. No nothing. My eyes are now burning, I am still on the phone, no longer really listening, operating on remote speak. Yes, no, uh huh.
Finally I pull into work. I think. I can barely see. I finish the call. I stumble out of my truck, fumbling for the door knob to get inside the building. I stumble two doors down to my office, sling all my stuff in the floor, (cell phone, purse, and soda) and flail around on top of my desk like a blind man, looking for my box of tissue. I find it, run back out the door, to the bathroom two doors back down the hall, go in and slam the door shut. I fumble for the light, turn it on and begin to try and wipe my eyes. At this point, I am now standing in front of the mirror. And my whole face is bleeding black liquid. My eyes have melted mascara ALL OVER MY FACE. By the looks of my face there is none left on my lashes. I stand there and look at the horrible sight I have become. Knowing, whoever passed me on Hwy 90 and sat by me at the red light, has already seen the same.
I wash my now, barren of makeup face, and go back to my office. I sit down in my chair and try to catch my breath.
I have often heard, and thought myself, that a woman who is in her very private PMS mode, should never be exposed to the public. I think there should be enough vacation/sick days in the year allowed for these said days. We should not even be allowed outside of our homes. I have had several experiences in my life that have proven that theory to be true. Today was another one of those days. Because though all of the above sounds like quite enough, it was not over. Oh no. This day of hell, of PMS hell, had just begun.
At 8:50 Mims calls me. I'm getting up from my desk when the phone rings. I have had several phone calls in a row. Enough calls that have prevented me from yet, having my first cup of coffee, when he catches me trying to go get a cup. I sit back down. He begins to tell me the plan for getting my two new truck tires put on my truck today.
Now, even though I have had no coffee yet, my alarms are going off as he begins his "this is going to be the deal" conversation. My alarms are going off, because I can't quite figure out why I need to know about this deal. The last time this DEAL was discussed, he was taking care of everything. So why do I need to now know about this deal.
I'll tell you why, because NOW, I AM GOING TO TAKE CARE OF THIS DEAL. He's telling me. I am silent. Listening. To the new deal. I'm going to take the truck to the place to get the tires put on, and I am going to "catch a ride back" with a complete stranger. Well no, no I am not. I tell him, you have known me for 13 years now. I do not like to go to those places, because I do not like trying to explain to "car people" what needs to be done. And I do NOT ride back from anywhere with car people (men) strangers. Trying to make small talk for four miles. NO.
Now before all you ladies of hard working blue collar men, get all up tight or defensive, let me say this.....my husband has the same type of job. He works harder than anyone I know. He builds/inspects roof joist for a living. But I'm not gonna ride back to any destination with just any ole' roof joist building man stranger either. So, I arrange for a co-worker to follow me so that I have a ride.
I take the truck to the Chevrolet place, I get out, I talk to the girl at the counter and explain what I want. What Mims has already supposed to have explained. I am simply refreshing. She acts as if she has no idea what I'm talking about, but is willing to get it done. I call Mims, leave him a message, that he might want to call and reiterate and why. Just in case.
We are at Pizza Hut. My cell phone rings. It's Mims. He is laughing. I still, am not. He says, why did you take your truck to the Chevrolet place? I laid my fork down, and slowly said, why would I not? And he said, the girl at the counter didn't know what you were talking about, because you were supposed to take the truck to W & L Tire.
I am not going to tell you everything else that was said. It was not nice, it was not clean, and I should probably be ashamed. I'm not.
At 3pm this afternoon, Mims called to check on me. I guess he thought I had already had enough time to cool off. Or run out of steam. He asked was I OK, I said yes. And this is what I told him :
"I want you to listen to me and understand me. From now until the end of time, or unless you are physically incapacitated, you will take care of ALL vehicle duties. I wash all the clothes, cook all the meals, do most of the cleaning, make sure you have your prescriptions filled, and make all your doctor appointments and remind you when to be where. You can take care of the vehicle duties. I will know nothing about it. And when I get home, my truck will be miraculously fixed and it will feel just as if Santa Claus came and Christmas was early. Are we clear?" He wisely said, " Yes, baby".
This day is almost over. I am praying tomorrow goes better. And if I get even the tiniest inkling in the morning, that it may not, I AM coming back home, locking my doors, and waiting until I can feel the crazy pass over me.