So I am sitting there at the pool, lathered up with my favorite coconut-scented suntan lotion (which is kind of an oxymoron because we all know that redheads, with fair skin like me, don't really tan - we get what I like to call "less pale") watching the kids flip and flop on their swim noodles and basically, having a most enjoyable time. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, my kids are all getting along...ah, life is good.
I surprise myself by reading not three, but four chapters in my new Jen Lancaster book, Pretty in Plaid, which is completely cracking me up, especially the parts about the ugly Girl Scout uniforms we all had to endure and the reproductive organs hidden inside her first lobster dinner. It's like she jumped into my 8 year old brain and collected snippets of that bygone year, which just so happened, for me, to be 1981. I nearly die reading her letters to Brooke Shields and remember that I actually had, in my possession, one of those hideous Brooke Shields Barbie dolls with the Barbie doll sized pair of Calvin Klein jeans. What numbnut thought of that toy I will never, never know.
Basically, the only way the afternoon could get any better would be if you imported a cabana boy from that swanky resort I stayed at in Palm Springs and made sure he had an endless supply of pina coladas for me, Coors Light for my husband, and juice boxes for our kids. Oh, and he would also need to double as a babysitter because us parents, we would like a break once in awhile. K, thankyouverymuch.
But, old age and the wisdom that accompanies it (mine in particular) always dictates and screams, sometimes so loudly that I want to throw it to the ground and stomp all over it, that these good things? They all come to an end.
And end they did.
I didn't really hear her at first, I was probably too engrossed in my book. But little by little, I kept getting distracted by these words. Words that don't belong in a family swimming pool, words that remind me of that annoying bully in high school who thought if he just spoke loudly enough and often enough, people would listen.
So wrong buddy.
"Friggin this" and "friggin that."
Have I ever told you how much I hate the use of the word (is it really a word?) friggin? Well, I do. If you're going to say friggin you may as well say the other word - a word we all know and when used appropriately, can really pack a punch. Just because you replace a few consonants and vowels does not mean that the meaning or intent changes and good god, just keep your mouth shut if all that can come out of it is a measly friggin. Either that, or stay home and say the real word. Or possibly? Grow a vocabulary and find another way to express yourself that does not scare 2 year olds.
Alrighty then, now that we're clear about that...
It wasn't just the annoying word usage, it was everything else she was saying too. I finally had it when I heard her say, to her kid nonetheless, "don't pants me in the pool, that is only okay around family."
Don't pants mama in the pool because it is only okay to do that around family?
And then I looked up and finally located where this foul mouthed hooligan was. And upon locating her, bobbing up and down and spitting, yes spitting pool water all over the place, I noticed that she had the same ridiculous haircut as Kate Gosselin. You know, the one that looks like a reverse female version of a very bad mullet? Or, like a porcupine stuck to the back of one's head?
And that explained it all.
I really hope that haircut does not become as popular as "The Rachael" did back in the 90's.