Maddie and I went to see “Sex and the City” for a second time over the weekend at Brewvies. Of course we stopped by the sex store afterward. Of course we picked up a present for Rlo. Of course I forgot to take said present out of my bag. And finally, of course, I pulled it out of my bag in the middle of math class while rooting around for a pencil.
Luckily it was just this:
But still, slightly embarrassing.
My brother, Matt, was reading my blog with my nephew Carter last night. Carter saw the picture of my shoes and was completely disgusted. He told his dad to leave a message on my blog telling me to clean my house and put my shoes away.
I was pissed.
My nephew, at four, is at good at cleaning his room as I am. Which means we are both waiting for someone else to do it. Fortunately he has a parent to clean up his room; I have no one. And until Daisy grows some opposable thumbs I’ll leave it messy.
I called to tell the little pisser where he could shove my shoes, but somehow ended up promising him a trip to the dinosaur museum instead. That nephew of mine has me wrapped around his little finger. I’ll stick to my promise and take him, but if my shoes get tossed at his head next time I see him I can’t be held responsible.
Note to self: It’s flip-flop season, not high-heel season. I HAVE to start dating shorter men as soon as possible. My arches will thank me later. 
While paying for a drink and gum at a gas station last night the woman in line behind me asked, “Does your rash hurt?”
“Um, it’s pretty itchy, but wine helps.”
Before she had a chance to respond the cashier motioned for me to pay for my purchase. When I turned around she was gone.
I got home and studied myself in the mirror. I was wearing a tank top, but the rash is limited to just my legs. I looked at myself from every angle in the mirror and couldn’t see any spots of rash. For the life of me I could not figure out how this woman had noticed my rash.
And then it hit me.
Not only did I write about the rash on the Internet, but I also posted a picture of my left ass cheek for all to see.
Great. Just great.
And you know what else wine helps? It helps me forget public humiliation–one glass at a time.
Today at lunch AK pulled out his Blackberry and asked me to smile for a picture. I thought it was odd, but assumed he wanted a shot of my Barbie Band-Aid on my chest so he could make fun of me later. It wasn’t until he emailed me the photo I understood why he was taking it. AK knows a good photo opportunity when he sees one.
To read this week’s column click here. I think every local should visit The Woodshed at least once. I’m seriously obsessed with this bar, and not just because of the freebie condom jar. Well maybe that has a little something to do with it.
