Chapter Seventy-One: Ma’am loves a good Smorgas- board….

 

We all enjoy a good buffet. There is a place in the city that always has a surprise combination of food items from around the world. Viewing this smorgas’ board of goodness, I am inclined to perhaps have a smorgas board on my telethon! Take that Jerry Lewis! (Google: How to find a catering smorgas board.) My guests could fill up in between their acts! Maybe this place would cater? I mean it’s for a good cause!

I find Confused husband standing in front of the buffet mouth agape. I tell him this isn’t Sophie’s Choice, he can pick more than one item! One too many and Fritz are already on their second helpings. I over hear Fritz telling a female customer that his wiener is bigger and better then the wiener’s on display here. Terrified she runs away from him.

Moments later, Jimmy the high school student manager approaches Confused husband. He tells him to stop sexually harassing the customers! With a mouth full of chopped suey, Confused husband declares his innocence! I snap at Jimmy and point to Fritz who is inhaling a chicken parm like there is no tomorrow!

I share with Jimmy, that the buffet sexual predator is none other than Fritz. Jimmy studies Fritz who is nonchalantly chewing his parm, like a cow chews its cud. I explain to Jimmy that Fritz is referring to his wiener schnitzel. Jimmy informs me that he has no idea: ”What a wiener schnitzel is.” I tell Jimmy: ‘’That if he is in the food business, that he should know what a wiener schnitzel is.”(therein  lies the problem when you hire a kid to do a grownups job).

Jimmy tells me that he is:” VERY uncomfortable with my throwing around the word wiener so casually.” I shout out: ”You have got to be kidding me! I even sing the Oscar Mayer Wiener theme to him! Jimmy runs away. Confused husband says: ‘’Now do you believe me that you can’t sing?”

Minutes later,  Jimmy returns with the  police. We are escorted out of the restaurant by the cast from 21 Jump Street.

Moral of story: It is really difficult to be middle aged in a millennial world!

Chapter Seventy: Ma’am is not a pretzel….

Everyone is so into yoga, pilates, barre, you name it.  I tried pilates, but felt like I was literally being split in two. The contraptions mimick something from an S&M dungeon,(yes, I saw Fifty Shades) to Anthony Hopkins rolling his tongue about Chianti and fava beans. I then attempted a yoga class,  unbeknownst to me, it was a hot yoga class. Not a good idea, for a menopausal woman already experiencing hot flashes. Not to mention the smell. Nope, not for me. Forget about goat yoga as well! Bad enough to have a child on you while attempting yoga, but a furry thing with hooves and no diaper?

Then like a beacon of hope, I found the  trapeze school. I have always wanted to be in the circus, but because of my clown phobia, that was unattainable. My excitement grew as I entered the building! High above me swung various people. From one trapeze to the next I was hooked! I booked my class and then went to buy my circus outfit.

I came back in a leotard and tutu. Not the most flattering look for a middle aged woman with some wobbly bits. But in the darkness of the building, I felt like Zendaya in the Greatest Showman.

I copied the other students who were slathering chalk dust on their hands. My anticipation building. Perhaps I was a little too enthusiastic with my chalk applying skills. I looked like the Pillsbury dough boy in a tutu.

Class was beginning! I forgot about the part where one must climb up REALLY high in order to reach the trapeze. Did I mention I am afraid of heights? Plus, the ladder is extremely rickety. I was exhausted by the time I got up the ladder an hour or so later. I closed my eyes the entire time, refusing to look down. I was like a blind person trying to climb Mt. Everest, except they did it a million times better than I.

Josh one of the trapeze instructors kept narrating my ascent like one of those whispering golf announcers during the Nationals. If I had the strength, by the time I reached the top, I would have punched him in the face. He would say things like:”Oh, look at how she is pivoting her right foot while clinging on for dear life with both hands!” “Oh, the tutu is caught on the ladder, I repeat, the tutu is caught on the ladder!”

At the top, I was harnessed in(by the way, the harness is not the most flattering, and I believe that is why many men who are trapeze people are sterile-now I have no concrete evidence of this, but must Google this question later.) Thank goodness I am female, because as painful as that harness was, I cannot imagine having family jewels squeezed into this thing!

I am standing there with annoying Josh and some other idiots who like me decided at the top, that this was not a good idea. A woman named Joan begins to sob. Of course she gloms onto me. She is holding me so tight, we are about to go over. I know there is a net underneath us. I gingerly extract myself, and give her the slightest push. She falls towards the nets screaming like she is jumping out of a plane fifteen  thousand feet up. #DramaQueen!

Josh eyes me suspiciously, but since they have no CCTV cameras as I am sure because I watch a lot of those British cop shows, where they are constantly relying on CCTV cameras to do their detective work. Which at times, has made me think that I could go over to the UK and be a DCI as they call them, or constable. I mean. I could sit in front of a computer, sip tea and watch reels of CCTV footage AND wear cute detective suits with a statement necklace and enjoy it! At the end of each episode, they hang out in their local pub and drink whilst touting themselves on solving the case. I could so be good at that!(Note so self: Google how to become a DCI in London.)

Finally it is my turn. I hear the circus theme in my head. I adjust my tutu. I am ready! I picture myself flying through the air with the greatest of ease! problem is, I am shoved(by Josh!) and hang on to the trapeze for dear life! My body is bent like a pretzel! I had no idea I could bend like this! I am hanging upside down, with my right leg wrapped around the trapeze, and my left leg dangling down! My right arm is wrapped on around as well, and my left arm is swinging violently. My eyes are shut tight, and I am screaming like Joan before me. I refuse to let go as Josh, who PUSHED me to begin with is instructing me to do so. His voice is loud and stern, unlike when he was mocking me in his whispering announcers voice beforehand.

I feel a breeze shoot by me, and peer through half closed eyes, Josh is swooping by on the other trapeze, to try and untangle me from my pretzel like state. At each pass, he is telling me to let go and grab his trapeze. Um… that is NOT happening Josh, as you pushed me so now we have trust issues. Below me, I glimpse Joan who is smirking ear to ear, at my predicament.  I finally relent and drop to the net below. I lay there and surmise what was almost my demise.

I struggle to climb off of the net tutu askew, and leotard that is causing an enormous wedgie. I am now, like a dolphin tangled in a fisherman’s net. I flail and flop and am at this point sweaty, exhausted, and defeated. Moron Josh drops down from the sky like a graceful bird. His landing causes the net to bounce, wrapping me up more like a sushi. With face pressed against the net I watch Josh extract himself and hop onto the ground.

He lays under the net, looking up at me. My face is wrapped in the net as well, so I can only see him out of one eye. He informs me that the fire department has been called to extract me from my tangled web. He explains that my  tutu has knotted itself in the holes of the net, along with my face. In my panicked landing, I somehow released the ropes holding the net taught, thus allowing it to wrap around me. I really do not need a lecture on my current net fiasco! I realize my predicament Josh! I  hear the sirens in the distance, and the whispers of my classmates, I am pretty sure I heard Joan saying:”How embarrassing! I am so glad thats not me!”

Josh’s cell rings, and its ring is the theme from The Greatest Showman. The irony is not lost on this victim ensnared like Charlie the Tuna. Remind myself, once I am freed to Google: How to sue a trapeze school……