While I was making lists and running around like a crazy woman the night before our trip, my dear husband was snoring in our bed, after he assured me he had everything under control. And by under control, he meant that he laid out every.single.item he wanted to pack on the sofa. Yes, every sock, every pair of boxer briefs, every item in his must-have first aid kit. I sat there wondering why he didn't just pack it all up in his suitcase like a normal person.
So I packed it for him. Little did I know what kind of uproar it would cause.
The next day I Nair-ed, shaved, scrubbed and moisturized every square inch of my hot, six kid-havin' body. Then I raced off to get a pedicure. If everything went according to plan, we would be out of the door with plenty of time.
When I returned with neon pink toenails, I discovered that my husband was in a tizzy because I packed his stuff and now he "had no idea where anything was". Needless to say, we were about five minutes from
"You mean I get to spend eight whole days with this???? I can't wait--sounds like FUN!!" I roared.
I know, I'm precious.
After my Dad packed us all up in his car, we were already behind the gun. I started to get a little nervous. What if the ship sailed without us? That would suck. Hard. We were flying down the 605 south, headed to Long Beach when the traffic slowed to a crawl. There must have been an accident, my Dad said as he chain smoked his Marlboroughs. My heart sank. We had about thirty minutes to get on that ship.
|There is nothing worse than L.A. traffic when you have someplace to go!|
One fire engine passed. Then another. And another. And ambulances! There was no way we could get off the freeway. We would have to just wait it out. This can't be happening. We were about 25 miles away. My stomach started to churn and if you know me than you know that stomach churn equals bubble gut. I looked over at Michael like, this is all your fault if we miss this ship! And ditto if I shit my pants!
I was like, really intestines? Really?
It seemed like we waited forever. As soon as the police cleared the lanes, my Dad took off like a greyhound. He was determined to get us to Long Beach and send us off on that ship. But wait! I had to go soooo bad--you have no idea. I was envisioning sharting in my brand new Spanx (which I hated, by the way--I couldn't get used to the crotch opening at all).
"I am soooo sorry. I'm not usually this high maintenance." I kept saying over and over again.
Dad got me to a restroom at a Thai restaurant, and I felt really bad for those poor, unsuspecting Thai people because of what I did to their toilet. Stoopid nervous intestines! We hopped back on the freeway like bats out of hell and we made it with minutes to spare.
|Made it, safe and sound onto the ship.|