Chapter fifty-one:  Ma’am is that cilantro stuck in your teeth?

​After ten days of jury deliberation, we still cannot agree on a unanimous decision. I am the lone juror holding out.  I don’t think that the Costco squatter should serve time.  I think he is brilliant!  I want to contact Andy Cohen from Bravo TV and tell him instead of Bear Grylls showing people how to survive in the wilderness; the Costco squatter can show people how to survive in giant Flintstone like stores. This will be Bravos Running Wild!  It will be called:  “The real squatters of super-sized stores.”
My co- jurors have become increasingly hostile with me.  I want to remind them of my superior leadership, and unabashed ability to have had persuaded the Mexican cantina around the corner to send in Margaritas disguised as smoothies into our jury deliberation room.
They turn on me like a hungry pack of wolves. This is the thanks I get.  I silently sip my triple peach margarita housed in a 24 0z smoothie cup which I purchased, ironically, from Costco, disguised as a tropical smoothie. I mull over the task at hand.
Somewhere near the second to last slurp I have an epiphany!  I will vote for Costco squatter’s guilt and then come visit him in prison and write his memoirs!  I realize that I have lightning in a bottle with this epic idea!
I suck down the remaining margarita and after a short bout of brain freeze and a speedy recovery, startling my co- jurors; I jump up and shout Guilty!  I am interrogated by Egghead; “why the change of heart?” he arrogantly asks.  Professional memoir writer that I am, I refuse to reveal my true intentions.  I merely say: “After reviewing the facts I have come to the conclusion that my fellow jurors are correct.  Fish face eyes me suspiciously through her giant glasses. I sheepishly turn away.
I must not reveal my source.  I must behave non- challant  like Sally Field in that newspaper/ journalist movie she did years ago, willing to go to jail rather than reveal her true source.
Two hours later, we are released!  I sprint out of the front of the courthouse, and run around the block to the rear.  I wait for the prison transport van.
Costco squatter has gotten two years. He may be out earlier based on good behavior. I sent the judge a quick note asking her to perhaps consider throwing in an extra year or two on his sentence (I am afraid two years isn’t enough time for me to write my book).
After reading my note, the judge called me up to her bench, where she scolds me in a stern whisper.  But, her whisper is more like a gravelly shout.  Apparently Costco squatter and his attorney over hear.  They are furious with me!  Costco squatter tells me I had better watch my back!  He is handcuffed and dragged from the courtroom, yelling obscenities at me. I realize I will have to explain myself when I visit him in the big house tomorrow.  Hoping he will understand why I did what I did.
The bailiff  hands me a card and says to call that number if I am threatened at all.  I inform him that I was just threatened in front of him a mere moment ago. He squints his eyes and says “If it happens outside of the courthouse.”
Waiting, I telephone Confused husband and tell him what has happened.  He is monotone until he hears that I was threatened by the newly minted convict.  He excitedly asks if this means that he and one too many are going back to that fantastic safe house.  Shocked at his enthusiasm for my apparent looming perilous situation, I hang up on him.
Finally, Costco squatter exits with two deputies. I call “Yoo who!  and wave to him.  He flips me off.  I decide to deal with this tomorrow.
I head over to the Mexican cantina to say ” Adios” and have a farewell Margarita.  In the corner, I see my former fellow jurors. Fish Face is trying to hide behind the over-sized menu, but her over-sized glasses peep out around the sides of the menu.
I walk over and tap her on the shoulder.  I bend down and tell Egghead to get up from under the table. Javier my favorite waiter comes over with the Grande size Margarita. He also presents me with a cilantro infused guac.  I plop down next to Bug Swatter and declare my disdain for their covert trip to the cantina without moi.  Fish Face stutters and tries to make excuses.  I explain to her that albeit she wants to be the only skirt in this group of trousers, if it weren’t for this skirt here, and my ability to lead, they wouldn’t be sitting here in the VIP section of the cantina. (Javier nods his head in agreement.)  I continue on my soap box with my diatribe of guilt, pausing every few minutes for emphasis, and to wolf down some guacamole.
Exhausted from my reprimand, I stop and wait for the apologies to flow.  All I get is “You have cilantro stuck in your teeth.”

Chapter Fifty: Ma’am does Jury duty…


There are several phobias I have; clowns, bugs, hospitals, and mail.  Yes, I hate opening the mail box putting my hand in and pulling out bills and useless ads.

 In today’s mail I find out that I am summoned to Jury Duty.  I am pleasantly surprised that for once there is something good in there!  I am very excited and hope I get a murder trial!  I have watched every court show possible.  I am an expert!  I dash upstairs to pick out my outfit!  I channel Kate Hepburn in the film, Adam’s Rib, in front of the mirror I practice saying; ”Over ruled!  And sustained! “I practice interrogating my witness who is played by one  too many margaritas. He is a hostile witness! (Shocking…) I tell him in my best Jack Nicholson impression that: “You can’t handle the truth!” I feel prepared.

The following month, bright and early I am at the courthouse.  I have transferred all of my pocketbook items into a briefcase.  I march into the courthouse like a seasoned courtroom vet. Two hours later, I am ushered into a courtroom.  Imagine my surprise when I see Earl, my buddy from Nar-anon.  He is in an orange jumpsuit.  I try to wave to him and get his attention but he is conferring with his attorney.  There are little pads of paper and pencils on the jury chairs.  I take one and write a note to Earl signing it Pastry-Ho with a smiley face.  I pass it down the jury and it finally gets to Earl.  He and his attorney read it and they turn to the jury. Now Earl sees me and I smile and wave. 

The Prosecutor sees this interaction and asks what is going on?  The judge calls me up to his bench. He asks for the note and Earl’s attorney brings it to him.  The judge reads it, and then asks me if I think it’s appropriate to flirt with the defendant?  He also asks what kind of name is Pastry – Ho? I try to explain that I wasn’t flirting with Earl but just reminiscing about old times when we were in rehab together. The judge informs me that because I have a personal relationship with the defendant, I cannot serve on this case. I tell Earl I am sorry and I would have found him innocent.  I am ushered out of the courtroom.


Later that day, I am chosen for another case.  I peruse my fellow jurors. The lady next to me has on the hugest pair of glasses I have ever seen!  She constantly sucks in her cheeks reminding me of a fish.  I name her Fish face. The guy to my right keeps swatting away imaginary mosquitoes.  It is going to be a long day.  I am also regretting my choice of outfit.  I am having a massive hot flash and sweating like crazy.  I take off my blazer and pull out my Geisha girl fan that one of my passengers gifted to me.  Fish face leans over and asks to borrow it when I am finished. 

 We are informed by the Judge that we are the jury for the trial of a man who has been accused of living in Costco.  Apparently, he had been living there for at least a year.  I was hoping to get a juicy murder trial but, I am intrigued to meet this genius who actually did what I have thought about when shopping in Costco. Think about it; they have everything under one roof! I assume they have showers in the employee locker room, (must Google this later). If not, there are hoses in the garden center.  I have so many questions for the Costco squatter as I now dub him. 

I peruse my fellow jurors; besides Fish face and Bug swatter, there is a man with an abnormally large head, I rename him Egg head.  He seems like a bossy know it all, and already announced to us all that based upon his background he should be our foreman. 

Fish face has now borrowed my fan and is fanning her fish face profusely.  She motions me to look at Egg head. He looks as though he is asleep.  On the other side of Fish face is a woman who looks like an elf.  She is knitting copiously and I want to ask if she is making an afghan or sweater.  It is enormous, and could be a yarmulke for Egg head.

We are presented the charges against Costco squatter.  In my opinion, he deserves a medal for his brilliance!  I mean he was like an undercover spy! I find it fascinating! I wonder if there is a whole village living within Costco? (Must Google This!). 


Later, we break for lunch. Several of us head to a bistro near the courthouse. I order a salad and a glass of wine.  Egg head asks me if I think it’s appropriate having a drink when I am on jury duty.  I retort that obviously I do as I have ordered one. Fish face orders a vodka tonic, and Bug swatter a beer. A few other jurors follow suit.  Egg head glares at me and exclaims “Look what you started!”  I order him a shot of tequila and tell him to chill.  Several drinks later we notice the time. We are a half hour late getting back to the courthouse.  Egg head who now has consumed four tequila shots is walking unsteadily.  Fish face and I attempt to assist him. 

Bug swatter, after having inhaled a six pack and no food, throws up in front of the courthouse. 

Sheepishly we enter the jury room. Several of the other jurors who didn’t go with us glare. One who reminds me of Kanye West asks us “Where the hell have we been?” Before we can answer, a court officer comes in and says the Judge wishes to speak with us. 

We are ushered back into the courtroom.  Egg head is slumped over in his seat.  Bug swatter has a plastic bag just in case.Fish face hiccups loudly.For some reason the Judge looks at me and asks why we are late.  I explain that we went for lunch and it took longer than we thought.  I share with her that I ordered the chicken Caesar salad and I don’t recommend it as the lettuce was bad.  I had to send it back and then order a French onion soup which was not any better because they used Swiss cheese instead of gruyere, which in my opinion makes it Swiss onion soup and not French. 

Fish face chimes in that I was almost kicked out of the bistro by our waiter in my outrage over the soup debacle. (I give Fish face a stern look as I don’t think she is helping our cause by this declaration.)

We are told we are dismissed for the day and warned this better not happen again.  As we file out of the courthouse, Egg head who has now awoke from his drunken slumber suggests we all go to this Mexican place around the corner for margaritas, for once he says something sensible.  Drinks ordered, we begin to discuss the case. I suggest that we head over to Costco and immerse ourselves in it overnight as our Costco squatter did.  I think that the Judge would appreciate our attempt to see things from the squatter’s view point. 

Bug swatter profusely disagrees with me. He says we will be arrested. Fish face agreed with him. Egg head who has been silent mulls it all over.

We decide to head home for the night and perhaps attempt to squat in Costco another night. Personally, I would rather have an overnight bag with me.

The next morning, bright and early we are back in the jury box.


Chapter forty-nine:Ma’am and Farmer Man bun part deux…

After my ride from hell with Nurse Ratchet, I decide to treat myself to a baked good.  Heading towards the city, I see a cozy little bakery about 15 minutes away from Nurse Ratchet’s home.  I enter this quaint little country bakery. The aroma of goodness wafts into my nostrils.
To my surprise standing behind the counter is Farmer Man bun!  He is placing giant cinnamon buns on a tray and I laugh about the irony of his giant hair man bun!   All it needs is frosting and voila!

I decide to buy a half a dozen buns to bring home.  If they are not well received than I can always use them as book ends or a door stopper.  Farmer Man bun asks me how my friend who was lost is doing.  I inform him that Nurse Ratchet is certainly not my friend.  I share with him about her bruising and the frozen fish sticks all caused by that giant culprit on his head. 

I let him know that I expect Nurse Ratchet to be suing the two of us because of her injuries.   Farmer Man bun tries to pretend that he is no part of this.  I remind him that it is his man bun which caused grievous injuries to Nurse Ratchet.  He tries to flip it on me. I explain that having PWPB syndrome is not my fault!  I had to pee as ironically did Nurse Ratchet.

Farmer Man bun points out that he didn’t drive Nurse Ratchet into the woods and desert her there, leaving her to pee alone in the woods and become lost.

I retort to Farmer Man bun that perhaps due to the large appendage on the top of his head, maybe it’s depriving his brain of oxygen.  I include in my lecture that I am not a camper and even I found my way back to the car.

I try to direct the conversation back to his man bun and the possible looming lawsuit.  I advise Farmer Man bun to get an attorney and exit with my enormous buns (the ones in the bag not my ass).

I head back toward the city, trying to imagine if the giant buns would make a good coffee table…

Chapter forty-eight Ma’am flew over the cuckoo’s nest… Nurse Ratchet is just as thrilled to see me as I am to see her. She gets into the car saying “Just my luck!”. I find out that I am driving her to some little town all the way out in the back woods of Virginia. Blanche lets me know that Nurse Ratchet’s drop off point is 35 miles away a good 50-60 minute ride. I also know that at some point I will have to pee. I realize that if I have a PWPB episode that Nurse Ratchet will witness it first- hand! Perhaps then she will allow me back in the rest home to gather my data. For a while we ride in silence. We are on a back country road. I have to pee. I ask Nurse Ratchet if she knows of a place that has a restroom I can use. She snickers and says “No”. I decide to pull over. There are woods all around. From the middle console I pull out napkins. Nurse Ratchet begins her abusive tirade towards me. I inform her that I will pee and then we will get back on the road. I exit the car and tentatively look around. It is an isolated area. The terrain reminds me of a swamp. I am wondering about gators lurking. ( Must Google Are there gators in Virginia?).Nurse Ratchet is glaring at me through the car window. I continue my hike deeper into the swamp. I hear strange noises and am waiting for either a scene from the movie Deliverance to occur or an episode of When Wild Animals Attack. I hear my car horn honking, and know that Nurse Ratchet is the culprit. Finished, I hike back to the car. Entering the car, I brace for the diatribe of abuse. All is silent. I find an empty backseat. Fleeting thoughts of some back road maniac who kidnapped Nurse Ratchet crosses my mind but, knowing her personality that is ridiculous! The keys are in the ignition and the car is still running. Scrambling out of the car I begin to holler for Nurse Ratchet. All I hear in return are insect and animal noises. I am unsure of what to do. I call Confused Husband and tell him that I lost one of my passengers. He is uninterested and unconcerned. He is of no use. I hang up and decide instead of hollering out “Nurse Ratchet: to call out “Wanda”. There is an eerie silence. A good 20 minutes later I hear an engine approaching. A guy with an ENORMOUS man bun approaches on a tractor. I can’t help staring at his man bun. I am surprised because of it’s weight he doesn’t topple off his tractor, this thing needs it’s own zip code! I see movement behind his man bun. Nurse Ratchet climbs off the tractor shouting at me. It seems Nurse Ratchet had to pee as well. She ventured into the swamp and got lost on her way back to the car. Farmer Man bun found her. She is furious with me! I point out that I wasn’t the one lost. She runs to the car and hops in back. I reluctantly thank farmer man bun for returning Nurse Ratchet. When I get back in the car, Nurse Ratchet is bellowing into her phone about me. She hangs up and tells me she needs ice. I tell her I can blast the ac. She informs me that she has bruising on her face from the farmer’s man bun. Apparently, every time he hit a pothole with his tractor his man bun whacked her in the face. I turn and look at her. There is obvious swelling. A few miles down the road, we come across an old gas station and convenience store combo. I pull in and run in for ice. The toothless guy at the counter tells me they have no ice. I tell him this is inconvenient, that he should rethink calling his store a convenience store. The only frozen item I can find are fish sticks from 2000. I toss them to Nurse Ratchet and continue driving. She freaks out on me. Demanding to know what is she to do with frozen fish sticks? I ask her if that’s a trick question. I tell her in lieu of ice, she can hold them on her man bun swelling. We speed down the non -descript country road. Nurse Ratchet is finally silent, holding her frozen fish sticks on her face. I broach the subject of me coming back to the senior home for my PWPB data. She tells me that I am banned from the home! Blanche informs me that we are a mere 5 min away from Nurse Ratchet’s drop off. FINALLY!!! I peel into her driveway. She scurries out with her frozen fish sticks for which I paid. I end the ride; give Nurse Ratchet three stars and head back toward the city and civilization.

Chapter forty-seven: Ma’am and the seniors…

Blanche navigates me to a local senior center.  Inside I see several people in wheelchairs watching reruns of “I Love Lucy”.  I dub this room God’s Waiting Room.  I decide to interview some of these seniors and their bladder issues.  I ask them to sign a petition I have brought about forming the PWPB agency.  I get two signatures before I see a familiar face.  Sitting in the corner is Ernest, Aka Rolff!   I run over to greet him, en route I am interrupted by Nurse Ratchet who informs me that I need permission from the director of the home to be here if I am not visiting anyone.  I inform her that I am visiting Ernest aka Rolff.   She asks him if I am visiting him.  He stares at me than calls me a nincompoop.

I swear it is easier for El Chapo to break out of prison than for me to get this petition signed.  I attempt to explain to Nurse Ratchet how I am here on a humanitarian mission for all PWPB’s.  She instructs me to exit the property before she calls the police.  I hop in the car and turn on Blanche.  Literally, a second later Blanche chimes to let me know that I am picking up Wanda who is 200 feet away. Wanda turns out to be Nurse Rachet.  Great, this is going to be a miserable ride….

Chapter Forty-Six: Ma’am and the baguette

After the debacle at the DMV, I drive away feeling sad about almost having the golden ticket aka handicapped parking pass. I decide my mission will be: The voice for all people with petite bladders. Since I live near “The Hill”, I can see myself as a lobbyist( must Google how to become a lobbyist) for all people with petite bladders.  I will ask for all of us  PWPB as we are known for handicapped parking passes. I will demand that the government funds research to discover a cure for all PWPB peeps. I decide to also send an email to the plastic surgeon docs on the E channel show Botched,  if they will donate free larger bladders to people, like they do for boobs.  Again I am amazed at my willingness to help my fellow humans.

I head over to a local Kinkos and put my plan to work.  An hour later,  I exit Kinkos with my PWPB logo and proposal.  I sketched out a bladder and the letters PWPB inside.  Although, Sam the Kinkos employee who was assisting me told me that my bladder looked like a kidney.  I asked Sam if he had any experience with bladders?  He shook his head no.  I asked him if this was the case, then why did he feel comfortable judging my bladder artwork?
With my PWPB paraphernalia in tow, Blanche directs me  to pick up Joe. He  is older, just your average Joe (no pun intended).  He has a grocery bag and a baguette sticking out of it. Joe shares with me that he is having issues with his girlfriend Frinc. I want to ask him what kind of a name is Frinc?  But Joe is going on and on about how he is an older gentlemen, (yes Joe I can see that, and who helped you put your walker in the trunk?  I want to add) and Frinc is a good 30 years younger.  I want to tell him that right there is his problem.  But Joe  continues  on the Frinc train and his dilemma, barely coming up for air.

He is telling me about his elderly ailments and as he does, he takes his baguette for emphasis and points with it, like a conductor at the symphony.  Joe recites his problems and thrusts his baguette with such gusto that he almost decapitates me.  I am about to drive us into the Potomac.  Then I hear something about Joe’s bladder and I become interested in the conversation.  Before I help Joe out of the car, I explain my PWPB agency that I am starting.  I show him my logo and proposal.  Joe asks why I have a kidney instead of a bladder for my logo?  I ask him if he has a grandson named Sam who works at Kinkos? He says that he has so many grandkids that he can’t remember their names!  I tell Joe that he can be the geriatric voice for PWPB.  He informs me that he pees 50 times a night because he is old and has a prostate the size of Texas.  As he says this, he points so forcefully with his baguette that I almost lose an eye.
I drop off Joe and have a BRILLIANT idea!  I ask Blanche to take me to the nearest nursing home…

Chapter Forty- five:Ma’am needs a handicapped parking pass

Mel my 50’s crooner dentist informs me during my cleaning that I need a crown.  He can do everything right in his office.  He puts in a temporary crown until my permanent one is ready.  But, I am so afraid of the dentist, that Mel gives me some extra Novocaine just in case…   Mel brooches the “me getting braces subject” again, my tongue is asleep and his hands are in my mouth.  How am I supposed to answer him?  I merely grunt and Mel takes this sound as agreement from me.  He tells his hygenist to schedule an appointment with the orthodontist for me next week.
After my procedure, I notice that my tongue is still unable to function. Mel continues to converse with me and,  I continue to grunt.  I leave feeling like a  drooling St. Bernard.

I should head home, but like crack, I am addicted to hearing Blanche summon me to pick someone up.  I pick up Hana and realize that she talks even more than I!  She is blabbering on and on about some loser she likes that won’t commit.  I make the appropriate noises of empathy, but realize that she wants my opinion.
My tongue is 1,000 pounds and rolling around with a mind of its own. I carefully try to form my words, but to no avail.  I attempt to say: “Men are missing that chromosome, they are incapable of logic.”  Instead it comes out: ” When we ising dat clomozine, de r intapapul of thogic.”  I sound as though  I have a horrible speech impediment. My runaway tongue continues flailing about, and there is nothing I can do. I feel the drool flowing down my chin into my neck.
Hana is shocked! She looks at me with such empathy and pity. I try to explain that I was at the dentist, but it comes out like Helen Keller speaking Mandarin.  Hana begins to tell
me that she works for a company which is always looking to help the disabled and would I be interested in this?  She continues to compliment me on working and not letting my disability stop me.  I think to myself, the only disabilities I have are the two at home who are probably plopped in front of the tv in their boxers.
I wonder how she knows about my small bladder handicap?  I try to ask her how my small bladder handicap is so obvious?  But it is a jumble of nonsense tumbling out of my mouth.
Hana goes on and on.  I zone out thinking about how a hibiscus frozen margarita would ease my pain.  Then my ears perk up when I hear Hana say something about me being able to get a handicapped parking pass!  Omg!  Imagine how much easier my parking situation could get!  I could park in front of anywhere with that golden ticket and be able to get to a restroom quickly as well!!!
Before Hana exits my car, she leaves me the info for her company and the steps to obtain a handicapped parking pass.  I immediately head over to a nearby DMV and wait in the line that never moves.  I see people sitting in lawn chairs, on blankets, some asleep like they are in a line for concert tickets.
I attempt with my tangled tongue to ask how long have people been waiting in line? but my tongue refuses to cooperate.  I make weird slurping noises and words like “hawaong “. People look at me with empathy and within minutes I am led to the front of the line. I am thrilled beyond belief to have been ushered ahead!  The DMV lady looks me up and down and then asks in a curt manner, “what do I need?”  I try to explain about the handicapped pass but it is a jumble. She hands me some paper and a pen.  I notice that everyone is staring at us.  I write that I need a handicapped parking pass.  The DMV lady reads it out loud.  She  shakes her head and seems to soften somewhat. “Okay baby”( my has her tone changed!)  She asks me to fill out a form and I do.  I can feel people in the line behind me listening. Under disability I write small bladder.  I look at it, and don’t like the way it sounds, so I cross out small and write in petite. I get to the part of my doctor’s info and write down Mel DDS. She reads everything out loud.  “Peter bladder? Dentist?”  (ugh! I have the worst handwriting!).  I write PETITE bladder carefully.  She again reads this out loud.  There is murmuring behind me.  She looks confused, than says :” Well I need your doctor’s info not your dentist.  I write out carefully, that my petite bladder syndrome has NOTHING to do with my dental appointment and Mel’s overuse of Novocaine, and the state of my tongue.  I add my need to pee dilemma and the difficulty I have had finding parking.  I write an entire autobiography, which the DMV lady reads curtly out loud!  I do not appreciate my business being read for the entire DMV population to hear!
All of a sudden, the people who had been so kind to escort me to the front of the line turn on me!  They shout horrendous things at me such as; “Fake handicapped person!” “Line cutter!”  I feel like I am in a scene from Les Mis!  I am waiting for the pitchforks and torches to emerge.  I am told by the DMV lady that I can be arrested for attempted fraud by impersonating a handicapped person and obtaining a handicapped pass under false pretenses! I try to defend myself my explaining that Petite Bladder Syndrome is no laughing matter! It is a difficult adversity to live with!  But all my words sound like gobbily gook.  The crowd around me becomes more hostile and I feel like I am in a bad horror movie! I flee the DMV and decide that I will Google how to create a foundation.  I will call it PWPB(People with petite bladders) or perhaps  PBS(Petite bladder syndrome). I will think on this.  I jump into the car and now understand how Frankenstein felt when the villagers were coming for him.

I  leave the angry mob behind.  Blanche informs me that I am to pick up Mabbie.  I arrive and Mabbie and her friend are discussing some disturbing item that they just heard about on Twitter.  They tell me that some middle-aged woman pretended to be disabled in order to obtain  a handicapped parking pass. They said it was terrible, and some of the witnesses they interviewed said the woman claimed she had a small bladder.
I am furious! Why am I again being referred to as ” middle-aged?”

Chapter Forty-four: Ma’am’s hairy situation

My eyes are aging like the rest of me, at times I have to rely on cheap drugstore spectacles to read a menu, label etc..  I realize as I am standing in the sunlight waiting for the dog that “Please can we get him? 12-year-old begged for and promised he would take care of him and I would never know he is there.” to poop.  I feel as though I am waiting for the second coming.
I stare down at my legs and am shocked at the travesty before me!  In the sunlight, I can see the mass of leg hair wrapped around my legs like hairy vines!  I am mortified! Ninety nine percent of the time I wear skirts or dresses!
As soon as the dog makes his deposit I bolt into the house and into the bathroom.  Of course there aren’t any of my razors to be found.  I find Confused husbands and attempt to whack through the hair jungle.  A good hour later, mission completed.  I am EXHAUSTED and imagine this is how Indiana Jones felt after hacking away through the jungle with his machete.
I head out and Blanche informs me that I am to pick up Fi.  My day is calm and without incident.  I marvel at how inconsequential it is.  I arrive home to find Confused husband sprawled on the couch with what looks like one hundred plus dots of toilet paper splashed across his face.He looks like a bad Seurat painting.  He is moaning and I hear One too many margaritas saying: “You may need a blood transfusion.”
I inquire about what is going on?  I am informed by Doogie Howser wanna be that Confused husband was attempting to shave his face and some thick vine like hair objects were in his blade and cut his face all up.
Confused husband seems to have stopped squirming about and is studying my legs.  He motions me over to him and attempts to rub one of my legs. I step out of the way and inform him that there is no time for that.
One too many Margaritas then declares that now he is concerned about flesh eating virus because of the alien objects in the razor.  At this diagnosis, Confused husband looks as though he is going to faint.  I truly do not understand why Confused husband is taking One too many’s diagnosis so seriously. I mean, chances are, instead of saying “Our son is a doctor” we will be saying “Our son is Binky the clown and will be performing at the Horowitz Bar Mitzvah on Saturday.”

Chapter Forty-three: Ma’am in the freezer…

The next day, with a slight peach margarita hangover,  I drive.  My hot flashes continue.  I keep the car thermostat set at a nice 66 degrees.   I pick up a passenger named Wes.  Wes gets in and tells me he feels like he is in the car with his wife.  Wes, like Confused husband sleeps in his parka.  Wes announces that he has had two bouts of pneumonia due to the freezing temperature his wife makes him live in.  I tell Wes, I have no sympathy for him nor Confused husband.
Halfway to Wes’ destination point, he realizes that today is his wife’s birthday.  I tell Wes on behalf of his menopausal wife, I am extremely disappointed in him.  At a red light, I instruct Wes to call a local restaurant near his home and set up dinner reservations. Then we stop at a florist and Wes and I go in to get flowers.  I assemble a bouquet and even the florist compliments me on my flower assemblage. I know nothing about flowers, but choose according to color and shape.  Apparently, I have chosen a lot of unique expensive flowers. The bouquet bill is a small car payment. Wes begrudgingly hands over his credit card.  He makes a comment about the absurdity of the bill, and I remind Wes that he is in no position to take this stance considering he forgot his wife’s birthday.
Next, we stop at a grocery store to pick up wine. In the store, I have a massive hot flash. I feel the sweat pouring out of me down my face, neck, arms, and legs.  I sprint to the frozen food section,Wes in tow. I open up one of the freezer doors and climb in.Through the glass door, I see Wes is staring at me completely dumbfounded.  A woman in the aisle watches me and then does the same. She gives me a thumbs up!  The store manager comes down the aisle and I see him talking to Wes.  I can’t hear what he is saying.  I see his arms flailing about and he is pointing at me.  My flash finally passes, and I climb out of the freezer.  I hear the store manager raising his voice to Wes saying, “Your wife needs to get out of the freezer or I am calling the cops!”

Wes, vehemently denying I am his wife, tells the store manager that I am his car service driver. The manager basically calling Wes a liar and saying “Why would you be grocery shopping with your car service driver?”  I walk over to the shouting match and tap Wes on the shoulder.  “Lets go.”
We walk away from the angry manager.  As we head down the aisle, I see several more woman climbing in freezers.  As I pass them, they applaud me!  I feel like Norma Rae or Rocky Balboa!  I curtsey and bow at each freezer door.  Wes pulls me quickly away.
We pay for the wine and get back in the car.  I realize that we forgot a birthday card.Wes begins to lecture me on how I almost got him arrested.  I inform him that I have been arrested before and it is no big deal.  He looks at me horrified, I tell him not to look too alarmed it wasn’t like I was arrested for murder,  only drugs.  Well, I was arrested for murder but the charges were dropped.  I explain about Chuckles, and me being Pastry- Ho.
Wes is staring at me like I am insane.  I tell him he shouldn’t be judging me but evaluating himself as a slacker husband, because if it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have anything for his wife’s birthday.  I also tell him that he still needs a card. We stop at a dollar store and the only card we can find is a kid’s birthday card.  Wes purchases it, and in my car I pull out my traveling art bag.  I give Wes a quick art lesson and some feathers, glue and glitter.  As I drive Wes home, I hear a lot of activity in the back of the car.  It sounds like he is building a rocket ship.
We arrive at Wes’ home and I turn to see what my little Picasso has created. I am appalled at the mess on my backseat!  Wes and the backseat are covered in glue, feathers, and glitter!  Wes is smiling like a kindergartener that has gotten into the art room without any supervision.  I don’t want to burst his bubble but, the hot mess of a card he is holding in his feathered hands is a nightmare!
Wes’ wife comes out of the house, and Wes gets out of the car.  His face is covered in glitter like a showgirl that slept in her costume.  His wife looks startled at Wes’ appearance.  I watch him hand her his mess of a card, and she reluctantly takes it, as if it is a loaded diaper.  I realize Wes has left his price of a small car payment bouquet and the wine on the backseat. I jump out and hand them to Wes. He introduces his wife to me. I say Happy Birthday.

We talk about how hot today is. Wes’ wife shares with us that she was just watching the local news about some crazy middle-aged blonde woman who climbed in the freezer of their local grocery store, prompting other woman to do the same. She said the store manager was interviewed where he claimed the woman’s husband was trying to deny that she was his wife.  The manager said the husband was so mortified with his wife’s crazy behavior that he insisted that she was not his wife, but his car service driver. Wes looks at me sheepishly, like we have had an affair. His wife continues, that the next time she has a flash in the grocery store that she will do the same.  At this statement, Wes gives me a dirty look. His wife says that whoever this middle aged blonde woman is she wishes she could meet her because she is her hero!

At this comment I stick my tongue out at Wes. He shoots me another nasty look but I don’t care! I am vilified!  I point out to Wes’ wife that I don’t understand why they are referring to her as “middle-aged”. His wife says she doesn’t care how old she is that she would be friends with her in a heartbeat!  Upon hearing this, I attempt to get an invite to tonight’s b-day dinner.  Wes almost tackles me back in the car. He shoves me into the driver’s seat telling me to watch my head as I whack it trying to bend in.  After all I have done for him today!  But I know I saved the day and I feel like a super hero!
I leave Wes and his wife and head home.  Confused husband calls me and asks if I happened to be in the frozen food section of a grocery store today perhaps in a freezer? I ask why? He explains a news story he just saw on tv about a middle-aged blonde woman climbing into a freezer at a grocery store.  I express to Confused husband that whilst I am out working why is he home watching tv?  He tells me to stop changing the subject because he knows it was me!