Fun at the Fair II

Random Observations

Those shorts don’t do you justice. They are so short that your pockets hang out the bottom.

You are wearing that lovely straw cowboy hat with the red, white, and blue boa feathers wrapped around as a headband and stringing down the back. It would look adorable on … okay, it looks adorable on no one, but especially a 30-year-old male.

The airbrushed t-shirt and matching airbrushed ballcap make quite the fashion statement.

Can that shirt / shorts / tank top / get any tighter?

Do I have to see your belly? If you had a nice, tight, six-pack that would be different. You, honey, don’t.

I’m sure you are very proud of that tattoo. So is your mother.

Get a room.

Please keep your boob inside at all times. Unless you are breastfeeding. You. Are. Not.

Yep. You needed that turkey leg / corn dog / funnel cake / ice cream / fried twinkie / saltwater taffy / giant cinnamon roll / something-on-a-stick / pork chop / roast beef dinner / gyro / pizza / fried chicken / deep fried oreo. I could see you were gonna starve without it. (Disclaimer: I did not have ALL of these… only some…. and many options were left off the list.)

Carnies are hot. NOT.

Camping Fun #203

I have made breakfast. A lovely breakfast of bacon, toast, scrambled eggs. I have served it to my Hubs, my MIL, my son’s future father-in-law, and some of my sons’ friends who have camped in their tent next to our RV this night. Son and his girlfriend had to leave before breakfast, as she had to go to work and he had to work on the ‘other’ car for tonights’ race.

I am now cleaning up. I use paper plates, but still have silverware, cups, and pans to wash. I have a very tiny kitchen in the RV, but I’m used to doing things in the kitchen myself. In our old house, I didn’t want anyone else in my small kitchen because they would just get in the way. In the new house, my kitchen is huge and I can have people sit at the bar and watch me, but I prefer to just do the actual cooking myself. I know where things are, I know how to do it, and please just get the fcuk out of my way. The RV is the same way. Has a galley kitchen and is made for ONE person.

MIL keeps walking behind me in the RV as I am starting to organize the dishes. She heads for the garbage waste can. No, no, please don’t take it out. I still need it. I’m clearing dishes. The RV doesn’t have a garbage disposal, I need to scrape the waste into the bag. She walks back behind me going the other way. Heading for the door. This is good. This is a very good sign. She stops next to my elbow (within “oops!” slamming range). Being a good daughter-in-law, I keep my elbow tucked tightly to my side. Not easy to do when trying to handle an electric skillet and several utensils at once. She stands and watches. I scrape scraps from a bowl into the trash.

MIL: “Is it ready to go now?”
Me: “um… no… I still have dishes. I’ll let you know when I’m done”
MIL: “I was just going to take it up to the dumpster”
Me:” yes, and that’s terrific. I’ll bring it outside when I’m done”
MIL: “there is a box out there with a couple of cans, too. I sent the rest of the cans with Jon. I don’t want that money to go to waste” (we have a 5 cent can deposit here that is refundable when you recycle your cans).
Me:…
MIL:” I’ll just take that trash out and run it up to the dumpster”

She starts heading for the trash can again.

Me: “Give me a minute to finish, then you can take it up”

She hovers, watching me scrape lose scraps into the bag.

MIL: “Now? It it ready to go now?”
Me: “not quite yet”

I’m starting to feel like I’m dealing with a three-year-old who wants to go out and play with their friends. “Can I go now? How about now? Now? NOW?” I thought I was through with that about 20 years go. (No, she’s not senile. This is how she is. Oh, have I mentioned the whole pot of coffee she has just had to drink. By herself. Caffinated, of course.)

I get out the scraper and scratch off some crusted on food. I don’t want any to go down the sink and clog it up. I’m not normally this meticulate, but for some reason this morning, I just gotta get every crumb. Probably because I’m being passive-aggressive, or some such shit.

MIL:” Ready?”
Me: oh, what the fuck. “Sure, you can take it now”.

I end up putting a clean sack in the garbage can after she leaves.