For the past 8 years or so people [whom I know, thank God] can't help but spank my rear on occasion, like at bachelorette parties, or when I'm in a grocery store on the phone, or when I lean over to talk to someone. Or Thanksgiving Day. Yes; I said spank. It lends itself, unfortunately. I’m so used to it by now that I don't really react except for a look and a roll of the eyes. Unless I'm drunk, then who knows what I'll do.
One Halloween a few years ago, a colleague of mine recognized me in my costume at a street fair - from behind. And I had a big platinum
hillbilly Dolly Parton wig on! And! I wasn’t even wearing the company jeans! She recognized my butt. Take that, J-Lo.
This Thanksgiving, I got spanked again. Twice. I’m tired of getting the old hand to the caboose. Seriously folks, can we look past the physical for a bit? I’m really, really tired of being a piece of ass meat.
Thanksgiving Day overall was a very good day. I woke up at because Clickity Clack upstairs was away for the holiday so I got to sleep in. I went for a 4 mile run. Came back and found out my best friend (and Thanksgiving guest at my ‘rents’ place) had no hot water in her apartment and wanted to bail on Phase One of The Day, which was to visit my colleague’s house for a quick drink and appies.
As I have often come into the path of my best friend’s “universe denies my partaking in the occasion I already agreed to partake in” scenario, I didn’t fully believe that THE BOILER BLEW in her building, and went into a slight depressive mode. Seeing how I’ve been using some books to influence my positivity in life lately, I couldn’t fully believe it but I really wanted to.
I didn’t call her back right away; instead I went for coffee, relaxed, breathed, dealt internally with my issues, breathed again and then called. We created a mutual agreement on timing, as my parents were dealing with an electrical blackout and most likely needed all hands on deck [ed note: turkey OK! We do it on the bbq here in
Phase One was awesome and enjoyable. Special house cocktail was Guiness with sparkling wine. Believe it or not: very good. On the way back to the car my friend complimented me on my recent fitness campaign then spanked my butt for acknowledgement. Geez. Pleez.
Onto Phase Two, where, after several emergency last minute smokes in the car before the drought of not smoking at my parents’ house, we anticipated a disaster because of the electrical malfunction. No such misfortune. They were done cooking everything and the turkey was resting! Unbelievable! The only calamity is my mom wasn’t dressed yet.
The guests arrived, much wine was consumed, a photo journal of my parents’ most recent int’l journey was reviewed. I changed into jeans. I got spanked again. Damn-it! If it was a boyfriend I wouldn’t be so uptight about it.
We all got the leftovers and left woozy but not drunk. We said our goodbyes with hugs, etc. and now I smell like one of the guests’ horrendous perfume. It outsmells my own, outsmells the one my best friend and I put on in the car to cover up our smoking, and outsmells anything otherwise not covered. It stinks; I can’t get rid of it.
I got home and watched the end of Grey’s Anatomy in my p.j.’s at my own place in peace and calm quiet. I will dream of the stuffing, turkey and gravy all night till I can eat it for breakfast and run it off after lunch.