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Get Out. Of The Trunk. Now, Please.

Issue Date: Monday, Apr. 04, 2005

Have any of you seen the movie Cheaper By The Dozen? It’s a Steve Martin film, so by law I was bound to see it at some point or another because I loave me some Steve Martin, yo. And I do like Bonnie Hunt and … pphhhtt, this is not a movie review post. So yeah, anyway. Have ya’ll seen that movie or not? If so, please walk with me straight over here to crazyville population, me.

Follow me here… yanno how Hank (Ashton Kutcher) is all rockin the sock less Burberry loafers with his high-water maroon britches and calling his car the LABARON… like it requires capital letters? I’m paraphrasing here… ya’ll understand. “The dogs are touching The LABARON!” “They better not scratch The LABARON’s paint job, Nora.” Or whatever. And he said it totally without a trace of irony. Brilliant.

And now I? Want to refer to my hoopty as The MYSTIQUE! “There is Bird Poop on The MYSTIQUE!” “The clear coat is totally peeling off of The MYSTIQUE!” And I will say this without any trace of irony what-so-ever. I will take The MYSTIQUE to the CarSpa and ask for the full package and say with disdain, “There is an unidentifiable stain and brown matter on the floorboard of the passenger side of The MYSTIQUE!”

Mister thinks I have lost my mind. Not because I have told him about my plans to call the hoopty the MYSTIQUE! (Now with 100% less irony.) But because his Lincoln is in the shop getting fixed and they gave him this monster towncar for a loaner. It’s the size of a tuna boat.

He loves it because it’s luxurious and rides like a dream. I swear, we’ve turned 80 in the past three days.

We went to a cute little sushi place after we got our taxes done on Saturday. In the sushi place parking lot he went to put his briefcase thingy in the trunk. I saw the size of the trunk of the towncar and flipped my shit.

Me: Holy crap! You could fit a body or three in there!
Mister: No shit… it’s huge.
Me: Move over, let me get in. [crawling into the enormahuge trunk]
Mister: Baby… [looking around nervously] someone’s going to think I’m kidnapping you…
Me: Hee! [laying down]
Mister: Get out.
Me: This is actually very comfortable.
Mister: Baby… [still looking around nervously] please get out…
Me: Close the lid. [pointing up]
Mister: Baby… [motioning frantically with his hands and looking a bit sick] seriously… I’m not kidding. Someone’s going to think I’m kidnapping you… Get Out. Of The Trunk. Now, Please.
Me: Ok, ok ok ok ok. [crawling out of the trunk]
Mister: Thank you.
Me: [2/3rds out… screams quietly] HELP!
Mister: [looking around nervously] Quit it.
Me: Heh
Mister: Freak. [spanks my butt]

So… when we got home Mister parked in the driveway in the back and let me climb in the trunk. I asked him to shut the lid on me several times, so he did and I pulled the emergency release lever. The lever glows in the dark, you pull it and “snick” the trunk opens and you can hop out and flee if you are ever captured by bad men.

The only problem I see is if you are tied up in the trunk… and blindfolded. Then you wont be able to get to, or find the little release lever to “snick” … flee… and yeah, you’re screwed.

Hence the reason I keep a lot of shit in my trunk. Bad men won’t be able to put me in there. Also… No little glow in the dark lever. Stupid MYSTIQUE!

Yes, I am a dork. Moving along.

Overheard at a garage sale this weekend:
Greg: [coming around the side of the house] I lost a tool.
Stacey: How can you tell? There must be more than 500 tools back there.
Greg: Oh… [pointing] you can totally tell, and there’s more than that. It is the Flux Capacitator. (he used the real name but to me it sounded like flux capacitator)
Stacey: So, you’re stuck?
Greg: Stuck like Chuck. [sitting down] So, did I tell you I got screwed at the post office yesterday?
Susan & Stacey: [laughing]
Susan: That is the best sentence I have heard all day… that is so going in my journal.
Greg: Your what?
Susan & Stacey: [laughing]
Stacey: Her journal.

We all observe a Hispanic man carefully looking over an apron from Taco Bell. He offers a quarter, Stacey takes it. He gets in his vehicle and drives away. We all look at each other and try to decide whether or not laughter would be appropriate. Laughter wins out.

At said garage sale I got a little sun, but because I was hiding from the molten ball of fire in the sky (behind a fledgling tree if you must know, shut up… stop laughing) I got just a little sunburned. The little sun happens to be in a strange pattern across the left side of my face and neck. Sweet. I look like I have a weird case of hives… or rickets.

I hosted a bridal shower for some friends from church yesterday and a couple that I adore was there, they brought their three (and a half) children. The oldest ran up to me, jumped into my arms and then pulled back and sagely said, “Susan, you ear is red.” I replied, “Yes it is sweetie, I got a little bit of sun yesterday because I have very pale skin… but look…” I said turning my head to the other side, “My other ear isn’t red.” She corrected me, “As much.”

Mister and I are going over to that couple’s new home for dinner tonight… remind me to put powder or something on my ear. Or wear a ski hat. Or earmuffs.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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