Monday, July 14, 2008

Saturday - Part 1

As the Earth has a way of losing extremely precious people, Jason and I attended our first funeral together this past weekend. Really, since we've known each other for 12 years and this was the first time someone we both know has passed, you should probably line-up now to become our friend. Spots are filling up fast.

This created my usual social anxiety mind freak rollercoaster but to an uber level as a little known Betsey fact comes to light - I don't do funerals. As a matter of fact, I tend to flee funerals - frantically. Don't feel bad for not knowing, even dear Mr. Booms (whom you all just had the pleasure of meeting) didn't know as when I was carefully dressing for our first date I failed to choose my "I freak out at funerals" t-shirt. This all meant that not only did I have to stress out over my arm, thigh, ass fat combo, I also had to hope I didn't pass out or that my hand wringing wasn't a complete distraction for fellow mourners.

Saturday morning, Jason and I were up and at it packing Crazyman for his day in the car, church and then car again. Mostly, the day consisted of the car portion of this formula because the church was not so conveniently located in a crazy small Kansas town about 2 hours from Case De Booms.

The first hour Crazyman played possum and slept blissfuly in the backseat.

As long as we were rolling, he was snoring. All fine and dandy until my bladder remembered that it was processing the keg-o-Diet Coke I consumed for what would pass as breakfast. As Jason veered off for the only gas station in Pondunkville, I inwardly, outwardly, visibly and verbally cringed when I saw precious, baby-blues blink open.

I waited, not so patiently as Jason trekked inside to the restroom. He came out and informed me that I had a wait ahead of me - the women's line was at least 7 deep. Apparently, indoor plumbing was a hot commodity among the women folk. In line, I danced and side-stepped and tried to not be annoyed by the not-so-toothful co-inhabiters of the waiting spot. It seemed their inane conversations with spit flecks flying would never end. I don't know the cost difference between a Little Debbie or a Rice Krispy bar would be but they discussed it in major detail until I just couldn't take it anymore and I had to jump ship.

Into the men's room of nastiness I ventured, hollering (because that's what you do in Kansas) "Hello" as I pushed open the door. My corneas and retinas teamed up for a cheer of joy when I didn't encounter Bubba losing his morning brew. I did my business and got the hell out of Dodge.

Back in the car, I glanced fearfully into the back seat to gage the mood of Crazyman as I knew we had about an hour left. He seemed blissfully unaware and pleased as punch with the animal cracker Daddy had shoved at him while they waited for me. On we drove, making our voyage through Southern portions of Kansas.


We arrive at our destination.


J said...

I hate funerals too. I cry like an insane person. No seriously, I do.

I am glad at least part of your trip went smoothly, and I love it that you went in the mens bathroom!! Go BB!!

Allie Bear said...

I have to admit that I too freak out at funerals, I've passed out a few times when I was younger and when I was pregnant I cried harder than the family and everyone looked at me like I was a freak. Of course, once they saw my belly they understood but it was embarrassing all the same. I did the ugly cry, the kind that you can't breathe, your face turns all red and splotchy and your eyes almost swell shut, I loved her dearly but I'm not sure all that crying was necessary.

Oh and I'm with J, kudos on using the men's stall, I do that shit all the time, damn women take too long.