How datenight turned in to a car show

26/Aug/2007

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.”

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Comments

  1. 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.

    By Sonia on 2007 08 26

  2. 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.

    By Loralee on 2007 08 26

  3. 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.

    By mamasutra on 2007 08 26

  4. 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!

    By theotherbear on 2007 08 26

  5. 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.

    By mel from freak parade on 2007 08 26

  6. 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!

    By SJSFalter on 2007 08 27

  7. 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.

    By YSP on 2007 08 27

  8. 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.

    By Suburban Oblivion on 2007 08 27

  9. 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.

    By Jennifer on 2007 08 27

  10. I think I just peed….

    By skyzi on 2007 08 27

  11. 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?

    By andi on 2007 08 27

  12. 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!!!!

    By Marie on 2007 08 27

  13. LOVE this….too funny, made me laugh on a PMS-ridden day.  Thanks!! smile

    Natalie

    By Natalie on 2007 08 27

  14. i am dabbing my eyes right now. thankyou for the monday morning laugh riot. honestly. you rule.

    By texasbelle on 2007 08 27

  15. 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.

    By andrea on 2007 08 27

  16. I’m with Suburban Oblivion 100%.

    By *pixie* on 2007 08 27

  17. 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!

    By boogiemum on 2007 08 27

  18. 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? wink

    By Jamie on 2007 08 27

  19. Oh my, Lord - but, your “...pfffttt” had me snotting up my keyboard - you do NOT look pregnant…stupid, stupid man!

    By Liz on 2007 08 27

  20. 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.

    By Chantelle on 2007 08 27