Real or Fake

Today I am grateful for full disclosure.  Maybe too full.  You judge.  Or don’t judge.  Cuz we are all too judgy these days.  Or is it just me?


Himself and I were very excited about meeting his sister and her sig-other at a great mid-point restaurant for lunch today, for a belated Christmas celebration.  That meant that he and I were both getting ready to leave at the same time.  Oh boy.


I watch House Hunters International and the women are always yammering about how they MUST have TWO sinks in the master bath or they’d never be able to get ready in the morning.  Hah!  We rarely spend time at our two sinks at the same time, so I couldn’t get why it’s a big deal.  Until today.  Now we need two houses.


It takes us more effort to haul-out together than it did when we were packing up 5 kids for vacation.  Seriously.  We have become high-maintenance.


I have to use my skin lotions and potions or I’ll be able to lead a sleigh.  Then, since my eyebrows ran away, I need enough makeup to look like I have a face, but not so much that I look like Bozo.


There are the eyedrops that I now have to use four times a day; the breathing treatment for asthma; the inhaler; the nasal spray; and the futile attempt, even with three pairs of glasses and a 5X magnifying mirror to find the four-foot long chin hair that I played with while watching TV all last night, but now can’t find.


While I am going through my machinations, Himself is cutting his face off trying to shave around the bandaged holes the skin doctor dug out of him yesterday; complaining about freezing; taking Imodium (don’t ask); and saying “WHAT?” two-hundred times because he can’t hear the answers to the questions he’s asking me because he doesn’t have his hearing aids in.  The last question being, “Why are you asking me questions if you can’t hear me anyway????????!!!!!!”  Darling.


His towel is in my way, in MY sink.  I bump his head with my elbow when I’m putting schmoots on my hair.  He drops his glasses to the floor, so I pick them up.  The half-open-door hits me in the shoulder on my way down.  I remember that the same shoulder still hurts for whatever reason and now more because I’ve banged it again, so I slather on Ben Gay.  Good old Ben!  He decides he better bring a spare pair of underwear along, just in case, because of his. . .well. . .situation.


I mention that we might not know where we can pee on our way there and it’s about an hour and a half away and we are taking a new route.  So, Depends, or some form thereof, enter the picture as a very-real-just-in-case option.


Both of us are in various stages of undress.  Don’t picture it.  Save yourselves.  As I’m leaning into the mirror, tweezer in hand, bitching about how I can’t hold it correctly, what with my arthritic thumb acting up, wearing the aforementioned three pairs of glasses, he is brushing his teeth. . .with the teeth in one hand and the brush in the other, water splattering everywhere.  We look in the mirror and both start to laugh.


“You remember those old Thin Man shows where Nick & Nora Charles are standing in their bathroom and she is patting her hair gently and he is straightening his bowtie?” Himself asks, loudly, because he still hasn’t got all of his parts in his ears.  I snort.  “We’re NOT them!” he says.


No kidding.  It is more difficult for us to get out of the house together than it is for the Eagles to keep their wide receivers off the disabled list.


“It’s like we are both toddlers,” I say.  “We need to carry the meds, the extra water, the snack. . .the full-on diaper bag, only it’s filled with Imodium, Depends, tooth glue, tweezers and hearing aid batteries.”


That’s full-disclosure.  Don’t be judgy.  Wasn’t this more fun than the news?  I only hope you don’t have nightmares.

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