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Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Come On Eileen

Firing up so many emotions over the last week or so, I thought it was time for me to give you wonderful readers something to laugh about. Let's be honest, most of you aren't here to get sad or angry. Although, I love each and every one of you for feeling my pain. You came here for a laugh. Today I hope you achieve laughter, at my expense.

As many of you fine folks know, my family went on a road trip recently. The road trip lasted 11 days and took us through 11 states, some more than once. Let me clarify for you new visitors, this was not, I repeat, not, a vacation. We were on the road with my husband, Mr. Lane, on business. What you are about to witness is real. The participants are not actors. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Preparing for said road trip, I went out shopping. I thought since we were going to be sitting in a truck most of the time, getting comfy clothing was important. At the very first store, I saw them. The hardware shown like a beacon in the night. Perfect clothing. Perfect comfort. Perfect redneck attire. Overalls.

My first thought was "too-ra-loo-ra - too-ra-loo-rye-aye"! Yes, I hummed along with the music in my head. I was reliving the 80s in my mind as I stood there holding them up to my body. Thinking of what a sexy bitch I'd be wearing them with no top or bra. "Clean up on isle four!" The lady in the speakers must have seen my head swell and thought brain matter was about to blow.

I grabbed those overalls, slung them over my arm and headed straight to the checkout counter. No way was I going to have a moment to talk myself out of these beauties! No way!

When Mr. Lane got home, I yelled, "Fashion show!" Normally, this is where my husband throws up a little in his mouth. Although I never ask him, "Does this make my ass look fat?" I do ask him to offer an opinion, which my old man would rather cut his own tongue out than give.

When I emerged from the bathroom, singing "too-ra-loo-ra -too-ra-loo-rye-aye" while bebopping, that man smiled at me and my overalls.

"You going topless on this trip babe?"

"Hell naw. This is just to try and stir up a little sumpin' sumpin' before we go."

He looked down at his lap area, smiled and said, "Shaken, and stirred. Let's go!"

With the tags barely torn off, I had built memories with those beauties. I should have had them immediately bronzed and left well enough alone. We packed and headed out. The first day, I wore jean shorts and froze my ass off. Mr. Lane had the air on full blast. I didn't complain. It was after all, only day one. I simply made a mental note to self to wear something warmer the next day.

Barely wrinkled from being folded in the bag, I pulled out my overalls. It was going to be a nice and comfy day. Much to my old man's chagrin, I wore a shirt and bra underneath. All seemed right with the world, until I had to pee.

On the road you don't have many options for bathrooms. You get what you find. Being out in the middle of nowhere, we stopped at the first place we saw, a rest area, which was 35 miles from where my bladder said, "pssst... I'm kinda full over here. You might want to mention something to the guy driving this bouncy ass rig."

I hopped out of the truck, walked into the building where the bathrooms were. I got in the stall and realized that I would have to practically get naked just to pee. Why the thought of that never dawned on me before that very moment remains a mystery.

Looking at my surroundings, I was 100% sure there was no way in hell my ass was going to touch that toilet seat. I exited the stall, checked the other stalls. All were in the same or worse condition. I grabbed paper towels. Back in the stall, I pulled the end of the toilet paper off, placing it in the toilet, because you just never know whose nasty hands touched it last. I hit the flusher with my foot, because courtesy flushes are essential in making sure there is no chance of someone else's anything splashing back. Using a giant wad of paper towels, I wiped the "wetness" off of the seat, because, ewww, how the fuck do women piss on the seat? I even put one of those toilet seat protectors on, just in case. And in slow motion, my sunglasses, that were tucked neatly away by the arm in my cleavage, slid out... bounce, bounce, as they hit one side of the toilet seat bouncing to the other like Ricochet Rabbit, ping.. ping... ping. "Nooo!"

Thankfully the final ping, caused them to fall to the floor. On the verge of pissing myself, I unlatched each strap, flinging them over my shoulders, when, "plop!" Fuck! One of my straps landed smack-dab in the pot. "Oh, my God! Now what? Sonofabitch!" There was no more time to converse with myself, I needed to pee. Badly. I reeled the strap out of the toilet and slid my precious overalls down just enough to do my business and the mother fuckers slid all the way down to the nasty floor. And guess what. The floor was wet. "Oh wonderful!" Anyone else in the bathroom at that moment probably thought I was cheering on a giant log.

I emerged holding my sunglasses with my index finger and thumb at arm's length. I threw them in the sink. I put the hot water on, soaped my hands and the glasses. Once rinsed and dry, I tucked them back into the top of my shirt.

When I walked out of the restroom I had one strap of my overalls latched and the other hanging behind me like one of those crappy little Kris Kross'll make ya jump, jump, rappers. I even had the rapper wannabe, bowlegged walk going because the entire crotch area of my overalls was soaking wet from landing in who knows what on the floor.

Approaching the truck, I was greeted by my loving family, who, incidentally, were all laughing so hard, they needed a turn in the restroom.