Chapter 23: The Countess of Wedgewood

10am:  It’s Saturday morning and I am preparing for a much needed ‘Girls day out’ with my Mom and favorite aunt, ‘The Countess of Wedgewood.’  She was crowned with this title years ago when I realized how much fun it was to surprise her with a wedgie or two when she was completely unsuspecting.  I don’t know how it still manages to be so funny after so many years, but it’s always sufficiently hilarious.

 

1pm:  The husband phones me to request if I can pick him up some lunch since “I am already out and about, you know?”  His car parked in the driveway can only be operated in conjunction with his grueling work schedule of four days per week.  I firmly stand my ground and tell him that he’s on his own for the afternoon and he’ll have to remove his fanny from the recliner and make his way into the kitchen.

 

4pm:  ‘The Countess’ and I are shopping for shoes and comparing notes and styles.  Given that I am blessed with grace and coordination, I back into an enormous display of stacked shoe boxes.  Inevitably, they all come crashing down in a thunderous display and I work quickly to cover my tracks.  Other shoppers are staring out of curiosity as to what caused the calamity, so I turn to ‘The Countess’ and say, “Good grief!  I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”  Being the sweet Southern belle that she is, it takes her a second to realize that I am pinning my clumsy behavior on her.  She starts to blush (as I often do) from other shoppers gazing her way.  Thankfully, she has always appreciated my sense of humor and we both begin to giggle uncontrollably.  Not a bad way to spend an afternoon…chuckling and teasing someone who is so close to your heart.  She has always held a top spot on my list.

 

11pm:  I arrive home after my full day off with my bed beckoning from upstairs. I head upstairs and complete my nightly routine: shower, scrub my pearly whites and change into an old t-shirt and floppy, cotton shorts.  I slide into the bed, snuggle up with my snaggle-toothed puppy and submerge myself in Morrissey’s lyrical genius, “Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”  The husband has exceeded the recommended dosage of Tylenol PM tonight, so it’s looking like a real possibility for me.  I say my prayers and tell the Big JC, “Thanks.  I owe you one.”