To continue on from my previous post, another fun fact about me is when I have spare time I clean. Or at least that’s what happened the other morning. I got ready for work and had some extra time, so I broke out the Windex and cleaned a mirror. Once the mirror was all shiny and dust-free, I caught a glimpse of 2 white hairs sticking straight up in the forefront of my luscious locks. Just in case you don’t know, I’M ONLY 27!
Being the MacGyver-type lady-person that I am, I took that used paper towel with a mix of dust and cleaner and patted those wily hairs back down. I received a strange look from the husband; one I’ve become accustomed to seeing as I do unexpected things quite often to warrant a crooked eyebrow and in extreme cases, a tilt of the head.
My response: “What, you’ve never used Windex for other purposes!?”
If I recall correctly, there’s a movie where a father-figure believes Windex to be a cure-all. I’m not sure I’ve seen the movie; only heard the tale. Well I too find Windex quite helpful and this is the story of how that revelation surfaced.
I was in love for the first time. We were in middle school and met in band; I played flute, he played trumpet. We connected over our love of skateboarding and early 2000’s pop rock music. We had been together for a few months, which for middle schoolers meant we would be getting married once we graduated high school; we were 13.
School had just let out for the summer, so he and I had to get creative with how we could meet up. **The next thing I’m going to write will be very telling of where I grew up. I beg of you; do not judge me for this.
On one of our daily phone conversations, lover boy invited me to one of his family outings to the local tractor pull. **I will not elaborate, so if you’re not familiar, you’ll have to consult Google.
I was almost desperate to be in his presence, so I jumped at the invitation. I talked mom into driving me out to his lacrosse practice where we could meet up with him and his parents. Mom and I arrived a bit early and decided to cop-a-squat under a shady tree on a hill that overlooked the practice field.
I was excited. I don’t recall how long it had been since I had last seen my beau–it could have been hours, but I remember being practically giddy. Mom and I watched a bunch of mini men run up and down the field twirling sticks while talking about nothing. That was until we noticed a disturbingly rank odor.
We looked at each other sharing the, “Do you smell that?” “Yeah. I smell that.” looks and began looking around us for the source. As the air became more potent, it became clear what the origin of the scent was: dog poop.
Still not seeing any steaming mounds in our immediate surroundings, we decided to move locations, maybe upwind, to try and escape the offensive aroma. I stood up and mom gasped. Never a good sign…
Yes ladies and gentlemen, I had sat in dog shit. How I had not noticed it beforehand is beyond me, but the fact of the matter was I had a shit stain on my ass, I smelled like a diaper pail on steroids, and I was about to go on an extremely romantic date to the tri-county tractor pull with my middle school crush.
It was as though I was living my own John Hughes movie playing the star who couldn’t seem to catch a break as far as her love life was concerned.
It was too late to drive home and change or even go to the store and buy new pants. I looked at mom and begged, “What do I do?!” Her response: “I think I have some Windex and roll of paper towels in my car.” Well that was good enough for me.
Sure enough, I found the bottle of blue cure all, unscrewed the cap, unrolled about half the roll of paper towels, and went to town rubbing furiously at my tush. Luckily the stain came out fairly quickly, but I noticed the smell was lingering. Lacrosse practice was coming to a close and I was running out of time. I contemplated bailing on my beloved, but decided I would power through.
Just before heading over to the other parking lot to meet up with my date and his family, mom had an idea. She had some scented hand lotion in her purse. My butt already had a wet spot on it from the Windex, what’s another layer of odorous liquid? Though I was resigned to the fact that I would be going on a date wearing soiled jeans and smelling of a mixture of feces and cleaning product, I figured it couldn’t get any worse.
I smeared on a layer of lavender scented lotion on my rump and decided it was go time. Walking over to meet the clan, I devised a tactic: don’t show your backside for about an hour and if anyone mentions a disturbing smell, blame it on the boy who had just spent hours running around in the summer heat. It was something at least.
To wrap up this hilariously awful teen drama filled reflection, I will just say: no one questioned my attire or stench and the blond hair, blue eyed boy-toy and I ended up having a great time at the tractor pull… making out under the bleachers.
And no we did not live happily ever after. He ended up breaking up with me over the phone on our 6 month anniversary–that bastard.