a blemish on my spotless record

I love Job, but he is a bad driver (are driving skills genetic?). On Job's birthday we were headed into a neighboring town after baseball games, when we were pulled over by the state patrol. I knew it was state patrol because of the gargantuan hat he was wearing with the cute little tassels. They asked Job for the car registration and my driver's licence. At first I was relieved. Job's drivers licence expired that day. But, then as I thought about it...hey...wait one minute...I WAS IN THE PASSENGER SEAT! What did he need my licence for? "Click it or ticket ma'am," said the patrolman. I got a ticket for not wearing my seat belt. Everyone else was strapped in like cosmonauts but not me. I was however the only one able to reach the grape cool-aid (that he made all by himself, sans-sugar) when it slipped out of my little ones hand as he fell asleep. Is having clean upholstery worth $124? Is wrecking my perfect driving record worth $124? Who knows. Maybe I'll ask the judge.

last summers decoupage dilemma

After a few requests, I have decided to share the odd story of last summer. Yes, in fact I did glue my pants and underwear to my butt. In a bizarre accident involving a thrift store find, craft paper, mod podge and a rare sunny Seattle afternoon, I made a huge crafting mistake. I was sitting on my front porch decoupaging paper onto an old table I found at an antique/junk store and accidentally spilled the quart sized jar of adhesive. Unknowingly it seeped under my rear end and glued my giant underwear and my yoga pants to my a@#. Not wanting to abandon the project I finished cutting and pasting the paper onto the little table, all the while having decoupaged two layers of fabric to my butt. By the time I stood up and realized what I had done I was in a little bit of a panic. I frantically called my husband, who works 35 miles away. He asked what exactly I thought he could do to help. Oh yeah, and he laughed. Its a good thing I got more than one phone call. I should have called Katie first to begin with but she just told me to get everything wet and see what happens. We spent most of the conversation laughing about a women who had waxed her private parts to the bottom of the tub. I desperately wanted to avoid that situation. My temporary solution: ignore it. And that worked for a while. As I mentioned however it was a rather warm day and sitting out in the sun I had consumed a great deal of water. Within an hour I had to pee. Within an hour and fifteen minutes, I really had to pee. Within an hour and a half I ran into the bathroom and was forced to deal with the problem in a desperate manner. Quick. Like a band-aid. It left a rather large strawberry mark the size of a saucer but in the end, nature had forced me to meet my problem head on (figuratively speaking of course).

why can't my underwear be cuter- and smaller?

Last summer I glued my pants and underwear to my butt. This was worse. Somehow yesterday, toward the end of the day, I was walking down the hall at school and a teacher (whom I adore) walking in the other direction pointed out that I had something trailing behind me that dropped to the floor in a wad. I turned around to look and low and behold it was a pair of my underwear in a pile in the middle of the hallway, smack dab in the middle of the elementary school where I work. Why couldn't it have been a sock or a fabric softener. No. It was a giant pair of my underwear that had somehow managed to hang out in the pant leg of my jeans all day until making a very embarrassing appearance. So I swooped them off the ground crushing them into a ball, holding them tightly in my fist and went back to my classroom. Of course I didn't have my school bag yesterday and got to carry them home in my lunchbox. Thank goodness they were clean. What I can't figure out is how the heck while wearing my tightest pair of jeans a giant wad of underwear went unnoticed in my pant leg all day? How many people now assume I have a giant tumor on the back of my thigh? Could the day have been any worse?

the "belt"way that is my middle

When I was five my dad brought me back a leather belt stamped and painted with leather working tools from Alaska. In the 80's I had a four inch white belt with a round silver buckle the size of a dinner plate that I wore slung around my hips, on the outside of my oversized button shirt (collar up of course). Well, this weekend I realized that I either needed to break down and buy a belt, or a new denim skirt, and believe it or not I opted for the belt. It doesn't hurt that I found one on clearance at the Lands End Super Store for $2.99. Up until a few years ago a belt would have been a ridiculous purchase. No woman wearing a size 28 jean needs a belt. It would simply disappear somewhere into the abyss that was my midsection causing serious chaffing I'm sure (kind of like the "spa-panty" now that I think of it). Anyway, I did it, I wore a belt, and my oldest son said it didn't match, but it did hold up my skirt and that is all that matters!