Waiting For The Butt Crack - May 11, 2013

Waiting for the Butt CarackWhy men refuse to understand the concept of a belt, I have no idea.  If you go to Target, you can probably buy a belt for less than the cost of a twelve pack.  If you can’t afford a belt, then I’m sure Home Depot sells some rope that’ll work just fine.  Creativity to save others from nausea seems a small price to pay, right?  Selflessness without a side of stench and vulgar, right?


Today, I did a lot of waiting.  Waiting alone with a good magazine, book or movie is one thing.  Waiting with a four-year-old for a service man to make their appearance is shear chaos.  No, we can’t run to the park to let off some steam for an hour.  No, we can’t run to the grocery store, so Babyface can ride on the back of the cart for an hour.


Sure, I’m lucky.  My four-year-old enjoys cheap or free thrills, but when we’re holed up in the house, all bets are off.  I’m like the comedian with the greatest heckler of all time.  Nothing I say or do is funny enough.  Nothing I say or do can make the day interesting enough.  Especially, when it’s nice out and there’s no school.


We waited five hours for the furniture repairman.  Mind you, they gave me a four-hour window.  “Mommy, when is the furniture guy going to get here?  Mommy, when can we go out?”


I usually try to ignore these questions because I don’t have the answer.  I’m like Lois in the Family Guy with Stewie taunting me.  “Lois! Lois! Lois! Lois! Lois! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mama! Mama! Mama! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Mum! Mum! Mum! Mum! Mummy! Mummy! Mumma! Mumma! Mumma!”


There is no correct answer for the madness.  Babyface has a long attention span, but eight hours (including the time before our furniture-fix window) is a long, long time.  A long enough time to provoke internal hysteria (crazy mom with a happy smile) and make me want to pop open a bottle of wine at 2 pm.  I refrained, but my willpower was on the edge of non-existent, just before the repairman finally arrived.  I even had the corkscrew in hand, when the doorbell rang.


I opened the door.  In walks a bald Chris Farley.  He was pleasant enough, but if the furniture company is going to make me wait all day, I think I deserve someone that looks a lot more like Tom Hardy.  My yelp reviews would be stellar regardless of the long, long wait.  Why can’t home service companies figure this out?  I mean, how many out-of-work actors and models need a side gig?  Okay, maybe we should move to LA.  Maybe the butt cracks would be more bearable there.  Think this will fly?  “Hubs, I think we need to move to LA, so I won’t be as pissed off at the service men that come by.”


I am PMSing right now, too, so the wait was about 10x more unbearable.  I was so angry at the furniture company for making me wait that I was about to take it out on the technician (an innocent bystander, of course), when Babyface said (really loud), “Mommy, his butt is showing.  He needs to buy smaller pants.”


And that was his ticket out of the wrath of me.  I burst out in laughter and told her that wasn’t very polite, while he pulled up his pants and continued working.  I felt bad for laughing and the rest of the visit was silent and uncomfortable, but Babyface made my day.  Thank goodness for kids and their honesty!


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