Lain's Log

Crazy day

April 17/11

Yesterday was one wacky afternoon! (thank heavens, as I could use a few more of those). Was about to whip out for some last minute groceries, had my jacket on, ready to take off, when my son, Max, came running upstairs from the drum room. He wasn’t wearing his ever-present glasses, so I knew something had to be wrong. I asked where the glasses were and he told me he accidentally stepped on them and they were now broken to bits. Great. Just three hours till showtime for his band, Basement Scene’s big concert at the Velvet Underground. (strangely, only three days before, I accidentally SAT on MY glasses, breaking them. Good grief. Not a good week for glasses around here).

Max can’t see properly at all without them, and I knew it would be a problem for him to perform, play drums and focus on the cues from his bandmates, if we couldn’t find an extra pair.

I was SURE there was a spare pair somewhere in the house, (but WHERE??) - so went into Mummy-mode, tore off my jacket and raced off in hot pursuit. One hour later, with every friggin’ room in the house ransacked, no luck. We were able to track down one half-wrecked pair (with his OLD prescription), but one arm was hanging by a thread. We didn’t dare try to do the nerdy duct tape thing, or risk knocking the arm off altogether, which would be disastrous. So, Max had no other option but to head to the show, praying the crappy glasses would hang in there for the duration.

Steve Webb, (father of Max’s bandmate, lead singer Emmett Webb), arrived to pick up Max and bassist Charles Wilson. (thanks Steve!) Changed hats to become “roadie Mum”, helping to load drum gear into the van and off they went.

Meanwhile, still had an hour to get the groceries before heading to the Velvet Underground. Jacket back on, I was out the door, into the car and driving to No Frills. No time to grab a cart, (besides, I didn’t have a quarter). Nabbed a basket, raced around the store grabbing what I needed. Ran down the pet aisle to get a massive sack of kitty litter. As I was rushing to the counter, I saw a woman laughing at me. Also, noticed an extremely handsome man, staring at me with a twinkle in his eye. What the hell? Finally, turned around and noticed there was a tear in the cat litter bag and I was leaving a massive trail of litter behind me all the way down the aisle! (Hansel and Gretl would have been able to find their way home with such a trail!) Great. Put the bag up against the shelf, took another bag with NO holes, hoisted and heaved it up to the front cash, (where I had left my basket of groceries), and joined a giant lineup. (Had to wait for the opportunity to tell a clerk they required, “Cleanup in aisle 5!”)

Suddenly, the handsome man came up behind me with his basket and started talking to me. He said he couldn’t help but notice my broken boots. Ha ha! Yes, I was wearing a delightful boot with a busted zipper, (all I could find in my huge rush to leave the house). Most of the boot was drooping down around my ankle. Charming. He said he wished he had an elastic band he could offer me to hold the boot up. (The busybody lady in front of me was listening intently to this bizarre conversation and smirking, especially when this man continued on, telling me all about his life and his many employment woes). I was quickly getting bored.

Finally, as I tossed the cat litter bag onto the conveyer belt, he asked if I had a phone. I told him, yes, a cell phone. He responded, “Maybe we could exchange numbers!” Yikes. Haven’t been hit on by a guy in many-a-year, (except for my countless homeless friends outside grocery stores, who love me because I always give them change. One of them tried to kiss me a few days ago! Guess I was a tad too generous).

I smiled at the handsome man and said I wasn’t sure my husband would like that. He went on to say, “Well, there’s no harm in texting!” (I didn’t tell him, my futile attempts to text have caused hilarity to ensue for those who receive my indecipherable messages). I said, “No, better not. Don’t want to mess up a good thing”. I stopped myself from saying to this man, “Believe me, if you only KNEW the drama I’m caught up in right now, you would NOT want to get involved!”

The handsome man told me if I could wait till he got his groceries rung through, he would help me to my car and carry the cat litter. At that point I thought, gotta hightail it outta here. Thanked him and dashed. Having no cart, I had to lug four heavy bags in one hand and the kitty litter in the other. Tried to “run,” which was no easy feat. Must have looked like some comic movie scene. When I got to the door of the store, I bumped into another man – this fellow who is ALWAYS at the entrance, wants to “help customers” in exchange for spare change. Have had way too many dustups with this guy. He is deaf, so can’t hear when you say, “No thanks!”

He chased me into the parking lot, tried to grab the cat litter bag, but I shook him off, bolting to the car. He finally gave up and vamoosed back to the store, looking for damsels in distress.

Meanwhile, after unlocking the trunk, I realized the bags were too much for me. One of my fingers had gone completely numb. No feeling whatsoever, only weird tingling. Guess I overdid it with that last sprint. Packed the groceries in, hopped into the car and drove home, shaking in what was left of my boots.

Managed to drag everything into the house, put stuff away, fix my makeup, grab half a glass of wine to calm my frayed nerves in time for Sam to drive us to the Velvet Underground show. It was an absolute blast! (you KNOW you’re in trouble when a rock show actually calms you down!) Fantastic 40-minute set and great reaction from fans.

After the show, back into “roadie mode,” helped Max pack up the gear and drag it all out to the curb on Queen Street, heave it into Sam’s trunk, then get it all back into the house, after which, I promptly collapsed on the couch to watch TV, before making a late dinner.

I’ve decided I should really revel in these last few golden days of whirling around in a frazzled, frenzied state ala the Tasmanian Devil before surgery stops me cold in my boot-deprived tracks.

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