Geeky Talks
How datenight turned in to a car show
Friday night we were blessed with a date. A DATE. Yea, I know, what’s that? It’s that thing you do when you leave the house without the kids because someone else has generously volunteered
been roped in to watching your children. It. Was. Awesome.
Until…
(Let me back up here a moment so as to ‘splain it all.)
So. You know I’ve been trying to get my pre-baby body back? And you know how I’m only a whopping twenty pounds away from my goal now? That’s like two dimes or two-decades, whichever. Anyway, I’ve been working out and eating well. Eating well means including a lot of snap peas for snacks. It also means wearing some pre-pregnancy clothes that haven’t seen the daylight since 2003. Or 2005, I forget.
Since it’s our first post-baby-O date where we decided to actually go out to dinner AND SEE A MOVIE (this part is really important and thusly is in caps), I thought I’d get all dolled up for the occasion and put on some makeup (gasp!) and a skirt (also, GASP!) I know. That’s how impressed I was hoping to make the bald guy with two kids who showed up to take me out. Like I was getting some (snicker).
Auntie Nicole arrived and LB instantly was entertained. We headed out to have a drink (or four) and then see SuperBad. We sat outside for dinner and drinks and enjoyed our time together like the pent up HighSchoolers we are on the inside. We giggled, drank, ate, and frolicked (the cheapest possible porn, AKA, played footsie). We walked to the theater about 20 minutes early to make sure we’d get a seat.
This is where this poo hit the fan (or shit if you’re in to cussing and all).
While watching the people purchase the twenty dollar buckets of heart-clogging popcorn, I realized I had the gas. GAS. As in SBD (Silent but deadly) gas. People! Those snap peas! They give me enough fuel to burn a tiny jet plane. I could make it to Hawaii solely on the fuel of my own ass. I swear to you. PFFTTTTT. PFFFTTTTT. Mr. Flinger looked at me, leaned in and asked, “uh, is that YOU?” I act completely disgusted, “NO! Oh, seriously? NO! It’s that old guy standing right THERE!” I try to defend my own stank. It doesn’t work. Six years of marriage and fourteen years of friendship trumps my ass. “DUDE! STOP IT!” he hisses. “I cannn’ttttt. It’s those damn snap peas!” pppfffttttt. We start circling the theater so nobody can trace the stink back to us. Circling and circling. Until we reach the original spot and realize, in horror, the stench is still there. “KEEP MOVING!” he whispers feverishly. We do. In fact, we never stop walking until we’re sure the previews have started and my ass has stopped.
We enjoy a show without a single :: ahem :: episode. We laugh (and surprisingly I do not fart here). We giggle. I get near tears with sheer exhaustion mixed with the hilarity which is Superbad. I laugh so hard I cry. I laugh until my stomach surely has a six pack. Until I nearly wet myself.
The show ends and we gather our things to slowly walk back to our car. We realize this is IT. This is the end of our date and we both wish for two more hours of kidless bliss. We’re standing at the door to the theater discussing just this fact when a Canadian man and his two children approach us waiting for their mom to pull over their car. We begin chatting about the benefits of Canadian maternity leave and whatnot. He causally asks, “So when are you due?” There is the sound of the sky falling and the hell opening up to swallow him whole. “Oh, uh, I’m not pregnant. We have a three month old at home…” I mutter under my breath something about how he should never EVER ask a woman that and damn him to eternal red lights and soggy pizza. Damn him, I say. Minutes after he and his kids are safe in the refuge of their car, I turn to Mr. Flinger, “Ok, seriously? WHAT? THE? FUCK?” He laughs a little and points to my boobs. “Dude, is it cold in here?” He changes the subject. “Uh, listen, I’m either going to cry or swear off food for a year. Comeon, what are you talking about?” “Aren’t you wearing a bra?”
Uh. No?
Ok, see, I was feeling all “WOOOT!” about my boobies and decided to wear a camisole instead. Because it has a BUILT IN BRA. Apparently, it’s not so bra-ish. Where my usual perky (albeit bra-induced-perk) boobies usually are, there’s the headlights of an SUV. But lower. “OHMAHGAH” I whisper staring at my own tits. “OHMAHGAH.” He puts his arm around me and points me to the door. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s go home. It’s warm there.”
Aug, 26, 2007 Filed in: Getting to know me •The Flinger Family •Social Clutz Loveable Spaz •Mrs. Flinger Said So • Read the Archives 
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Oy, I hate it when you can see the nips from the Space Shuttle. Embarrassing!!!
Worse than the gas, keep blaming someone else. But the nips? Those are YOURS.
I’ve had some issues with that since I “Reclaimed my bosoms”.
I was SO excited that they would be perky enough to not HAVE to wear a bra, but I usually do because HELLO! I could poke some persons eye out if they walked too close.
:S
P.S. You.do.not.look.pregnant.
I seriously think that anyone who asks a non-pregnant woman if she is pregnant/when she is due should be beaten publicly. Seriously. I once had to argue with a woman who insisted that I was pregnant. And I got the question this past week too. You do not look pregnant. I do not look pregnant. WTF?? People are dumb. Please do not assume that all Canadians are that clueless. Grrrr.
HAHA!
This post made me roar laughing. And no, you don’t look pregnant. Nor do I, I hope, and I got asked this question by someone at work a few months ago. I still don’t like that girl now!
First off: I can’t believe how much you look like your blog persona. Love the hair.
Second: You do not look pregnant.
Third: I am so jealous of your date night and your seeing of Superbad. Not so much of your fartiness, though.
I can’t stop laughing and hearing The Backyardigans singing “I wish I didn’t have a nose. PU watch out, PU it’s so stinky” in the background is not helping. Timing is everything!
As for the headlights, J and I just had that conversation this morning. Although ours was based on only having one shining at a time. God I hate that!
Canada Man must die. There is no way you look even a little bit pregnant. You look fabulous. Besides, doesn’t he know the rules? I bet he got an earful from his wife when he got into the van! I’ll kill him for you. Just let me know.
I think I just died a little for you. Hearing stories like this are why I never ask a woman if she is pregnant unless she is in labor.
You don’t look pregnant!
I love you for this post because it’s making me laugh despite getting up 4 times in the night.
Also, I am into cussing.
I think I just peed….
Honey, you do not look pregnant. And this post made me laugh my ass off. I loved how you kept moving to escape the stink-blame. Just further proof that snap peas and those of their ilk are pure evil. Ice-cream has never given me gas, what about you?
LMAO! That man’s an ass. Of course you don’t look pregnant.
The gas thing… that would SO be me. OHMYGOSH!
Date night sounds splendid!!!!
LOVE this….too funny, made me laugh on a PMS-ridden day. Thanks!!
Natalie
i am dabbing my eyes right now. thankyou for the monday morning laugh riot. honestly. you rule.
You do not look one bit pregnant, what an ass!
I am going to have to check myself in the mirror next time I leave the house in one of those camisoles instead of a bra, which is pretty much every day.
So glad you guys got out to have a date night. It is amazing what a few hours away from the kids can do to your outlook on life.
I’m with Suburban Oblivion 100%.
Ok, I couldn’t even read your entire post at one sitting b/c I was laughing so hard. Thank you for MY workout for the day.
And you don’t look preggo at ALL!
He must have had a death wish! Ugh…what an idiot. I wish his wife had been there to elbow him in the side.
Despite the funky ending, I’m so glad you and Mr. Flinger had a hot date. That movie is on our “must see” list.
Oh, and lay off the snap peas next time, will ya?
Oh my, Lord - but, your “...pfffttt” had me snotting up my keyboard - you do NOT look pregnant…stupid, stupid man!
Wow. I had a crap day and was taking a break. I just came across your blog through Club Mom, and I literally just laughed my drink up my nose You need to warn people about posts like that! I almost drowned. Hi-lar-ious.
Tell me he jumped you when you got home. I mean between the stank and the nips, how could he not?!
Men! They are still walking around asking women that question? Idiots.
omg Leslie, you had me in tears with the farting episode! I was asked once by a dude in an elevator in front of 3 others the following question, “what are you four months?” I wanted to screan uhmmm no f***head, you DON’T ASK THAT question unless i’m giving birth inside this elavator and the babies head is poking out so you can MAKE sure that i am really pregnant. ...ass.
I am so sorry (and yet I laughed—what kind of friend am I?). I have never been asked if I am pregnant…but since I never go anywhere alone, people see Baby…so hopefully they don’t assume anyways! I dont need to comment on the commenter, since it has been said.
love you and am jealous—I haven’t been to the theatre since, uhm since, well, don’t recall. Oh that’s right…they were showing “Raiders of the Lost Ark” back a few months ago. But we had both kids with us (but hey, it was a free showing of a really cool movie, and the first part was done here on Kaua’i). Now I just watch movies on TCM.
Okay, not many people can get me laughing out loud, but holy hee haw - you get me each time. I hate that I am chuckling at your expense, but THANKS! At the end of a long day, I am glad there is someone else who understands
Def. not pregnant looking at all. I look more pg than you and I have a two year old!
Pink looks really good on you!
OMGAWD! You had me rolling! I’m getting hubby to read this when he gets home, maybe it will give him the hint to take me out to the movies so I can spread my “perfume” around the theater.
OMG. I’m crying.. I cried my way through that entire post! You. KILL. Me!
Dude with my mullet and your farts, we are a force to be reckon with! Hahahahaha!
hahahaha!!
pffftttt. You kill me!
Mrs. Flinger, you crack me UP. Thanks for the laugh, and for your words of encouragement on my site.
I nearly wet my undies over the GAS.
Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’ve been asked when I’m due and I’ve never had a baby?
And I think you look great!