Fumble

Jan2011     You think you have seen it all -until one day, you become the sole eye witness to a grown woman lifting her leg high above her head while taking a shit. Initially, all I could think about was the fact that it took at least ten 90 minute Yoga classes to get my leg to go that high.  Knees locked- toes pointed. Fuck, that’s impressive.

 Then, I did what most people would do in my situation- I found the nearest poor soul to come look for themselves; For this was a story that would require a second witness.

 That was the first time I ever saw my husband cry.

 Personally, I was equally delighted as I was nauseous. This must be submitted into evidence immediately.  If one can get their asshole to touch the popcorn ceiling, one can get their ass in Depends.

As I ran to my phone, I attempted to mentally assemble the words that might explain what we had just encountered. But as I held it my hand, the caller ID reading “DAD” and T-Mobile’s jingle informed me that I was already fucked.

Fumble.

 I’ll be damned- Lucifina must have called him mid-shit.

 
 I pressed the green “answer” button and before the phone reached my ear, I realized the call was  already in progress. Apparently, in our family, “hello” is unnecessary verbage.

 I held my breath and listened to my Coach call the next play.

“Ash, my mother has some laundry for you.”

FML.