Exercise in Humiliation Friday

I have decided to make this a new weekly blog feature because inevitably, I will have some humiliating episode to report and now, I will persevere to save these until Friday. But first, I will start with Awesome because I am a Nerdfighter now and our goal is the promotion of Awesome and the decrease of Suck. Therefore, Awesome must always come first.

AWESOME=

This care package from my friend Jeannie. She is Awesome. It is also Awesome that I now have 25 people who are following me, not that I am playing the numbers game because it can only lead to Suck if I start doing that but it is nice to know that there are others out there laughing at...er, I mean, with me.

PROM by Laurie Halse Anderson is also Awesome. She did this book for all the teens requesting a book about "normal people" and she did it beautifully. "Normal people" is a lot harder to do than you would imagine.

Awesome is also the number of e-mails that I received from my friend Bruce today regarding a school memo that referred to a "suction item" instead of an "auction item." I laughed out loud at least 6 times. (Unfortunately, these "suction" e-mails led to my later humiliation--see below). And finally, Awesome is the fact that Julio comes home tomorrow after being gone for 9 days (you see, I could have put this under Suck but as a Nerdfighter, I am focusing on the Awesome of his return and not the Suck of his being gone). This also plays a prominent role in the below mentioned humiliation.

SUCK=

The fact that I just found out today that all the pithy replies that I have been making to you all via e-mail about your comments on my blog posts are apparently not going to you. They are going to some fellow called "no reply-comment@blogger.com." This makes me very sad because my replies have been incredibly funny, sufficiently obsequious and humble that you have chosen not only to follow me but also to comment, and very well-written. Ask "no reply-comment@blogger.com," he has been rolling on the floor laughing at me all week long. I am waiting for my FB friend request from him soon.

Suck is also my daughter's teacher handing me an enormous basket of classroom laundry to do because it is "our family's turn" with the following note attached to it:

"Christa, sorry there is so much. I forgot to give the laundry to other families for the past two weeks. Can you also wash the teddy bear that is in the basket? I think it is infested with lice."

There are no words. I can't tell you the number of nights I have woken up in a panic that one of my children has lice. This is not unfounded, my daughter is 1 of 3 girls in her entire class who has not gotten lice this year. I thought it was because of her mixed race hair, my hair stylist friend Liz suggests it may be because we don't wash it that often (she's not the smelly kid, she showers frequently, she just has really dry hair and curly-haired people should not overwash).

It is Awesome that we have avoided lice so far. Not that it is that big of a deal, it's just that de-infestation appears to involve a lot of house cleaning and laundry and I always prefer to avoid that sort of thing if I can. Because, you know, cleaning is Suck-y.

And now on to the humiliating...(thanks for hanging in there with me)...

Butter (my 3 yr old) and I got out of music class this morning with 30 minutes to eat lunch and get him to afternoon preschool. I buckled him in, glanced down at my phone and saw that I had received 4 emails from Bruce about the "suction" type-o. I was laughing so hard that I barely registered that my car wasn't starting. Weird. I wiped the tears out of my eyes and tried again. No dice. I tried to take the key out of the ignition and start again but it wouldn't come out. It was stuck and the car wouldn't start.

I called Julio (as if he could help from out of town) but he didn't answer. I called Mark, my back-up husband and he did not answer either. I looked at the clock. 22 minutes to get Butter to preschool. I looked at my phone for two more minutes before heaving a sigh and calling Stan, my mechanic. He told me that he was closing the shop for the day (me: dude, at 11:30? what kind of hours are you all running over there?). I got that teary quiver in my voice. He said he would be there in 5 minutes.

He arrived and fixed the car in 16 seconds. Want to know why? Because I had it in Drive. Not in Park. The key doesn't come out in Drive. The car doesn't start in Drive. Naturally. I was so humiliated. I started doing the babble thing. That never ends well for me.

ME: I am so embarrassed, Stan. I can't believe this. I just am very frazzled because we are a bit late and my husband has been out of town for awhile and he isn't answering his phone.

STAN: You need a friend? I could be your friend.

ME: (feigning innocence at Stan's innuendo): Thanks. You're really great, Stan.

STAN: You need a friend?

ME: I have a husband.

STAN: I'm Italian. (what?)

ME: My husband is really great.

STAN: You need a friend?

ME: Stan, aren't you married?

STAN: Yes. You should shake my hand because it is my birthday.

I shook his hand and Stan pulled me into a strange hug. You all are probably thinking that this is weird and skeevy and it totally is except that Stan is about 100 years old and I have actually watched him doing this same thing to 90 year old women. He may have even asked my husband if he needed a friend when he was in there getting his car fixed a few months ago.

Needless to say, Butter was late for preschool and I will now have to find a new mechanic.

We are having breakfast for dinner in my house tonight. Does a bottle of wine go with sausage and pancakes?