Monday, April 27, 2009

The Case of the Missing Mint

I am lazy and hate to cook and that goes double for my husband, so we went to the local Nathan's/Bruster's for dinner on a lovely summer-like evening this weekend. In case you don't know, Nathan's serves "Nathan's hot dogs" which are so delicious and juicy that they are apparently approved by God. They are God approved animal by-products. Bruesters is an ice cream parlor which may also be human tested, God approved, but I'm not entirely sure. It's certainly human approved- even if it is entirely sinful.

A hot dog and ice cream picnic-esque meal on a summer night- how Americana. We even called in the grandparents who came to to join us for ice cream. (someone call Norman Rockwell)

I have never been to Brusters and being pregnant an naturally picky, I couldn't decide what I wanted when it came time to order the ice cream. It's a walk up window and we were the only patrons, so I was taking my sweet time. Big ordered first- Mint Chocolate Chip. That's what he gets every time he comes here. DH ordered for himself and for Little next. MIL decides that she would like 2 scoops of Mint Chocolate Chip in a waffle cone. FIL orders. I still don't know what the hell I want.

I'm going to throw in here that Brusters must be run by an ex-football player or retired female gym teacher as EVERY ONE of their employee's is fresh off the cheerleading squad of the local highschool. I mean it's ice cream and hotdogs- should be cake- even for them.

Suddenly, there is a problem. Cheerleader #1 comes back to the window and says

"We're out of Mint Chocoalte Chip- well, we only have enough for one scoop."

So MIL starts perusing the board to find an acceptable substitute for her one scoop of minty goodness.

MIL: "Ok, I'll have a scoop of Vanilla and the scoop of Mint"

Cheerleader#1: "We're out of Mint." Huh?

At this point Cheerleader #2 comes by with Big's ice cream. It's a scoop of regular Chocolate Chip. I told Cheerleader #2 that this was supposed to be Mint as well.

Awkward silence ensues. I ask is there or is there not a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip- if there is, Big would like it and MIL says she will get something else.

Cheerleader #1: "We're out of Mint Chocolate Chip." (Maybe she's Robot #1)

Cheerleader #2 steps in to save the day: "You can have this (sliding the Chocolate Chip ice cream toward Big and MIL who are standing together in a united mint front). It's just like the Mint Chocolate Chip, but without the mint."


I don't have any words. I can't even look at FIL because if I do, I am going to lose it in a fit of laughter right in this bewildered girl's face. So everyone (including me) gets regular Chocolate Chip as I was afraid any more confusion just might make one of their heads explode.

Thankfully, it was quite tasty- even without the mint.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

It better be a girl

Recently there was a discussion in one of my online mom's groups about chin/facial hairs. At first, I avoided the topic as body hair gives me the heebie jeebies. From the neck down is pretty much a free-for-all for my razor and has been, for the most part, hair-free for about the past 10 years. Life is good.

It was a normal Tuesday about 3 weeks ago when I climbed into my car to leave for work and flipped down the visor mirror to do my makeup (whatever, I was running late). I began with my foundation as I sat in the driveway- there is a routine (I'm late a lot); driveway-foundation, first stop light-powder, second light- blush and lip color, work parking lot- mascara, which equals me arriving at work looking like a million bucks. Or at least not like I just got out of my pajamas 10 minutes before I rolled into work (which I did).

So anyway. Normal Tuesday. Foundation. Right. As I casually glanced in the mirror to make sure I didn't look like the illegitimate child of Two-Face and the Joker, something dark and sinister caught my eye.

I'll cut to the chase. It was the beginnings of my own hormone induced pregnancy mustache. I almost passed out and I won't lie- I got a little teary. I thought "this is it. The beginning of the end." and then I vowed to never look at myself again. Except that didn't work because now I looked like Wolverine came over for a threesome with Two Face and the Joker and I work with children and would probably be fired for scaring them.

BTW- someone out there educate me. I sat here for 10 minutes looking for a hairy, moustached villain from Batman and came up with nil. I had to pull out Wolverine which made me think of Hugh Jackman and the word "threesome" in the same sentence. Which made this post take much longer than it should have.

So it has been three weeks and while I have not been able to not look at my mug in the mirror, I have specifically tried to make it as quick as possible and am sure not to let my eyes wander to places that would upset me. So I have avoided noticing if I have advanced from Justin Timberlake faux-stache to a Burt Reynolds special. Until today.

As if my body sensed the coming nervous breakdown, all lip hair has returned to a non-seizure inducing peach fuzz color and cinsitency<----holy shit that is actually how I spelled that because I am typing one handed and my brain is melting from watching Sid the Science Kid----consistency.

On that happy note (the hair update, not the brain melting part), I'm going to go take a nap.