About an hour after I climbed out of bed yesterday morning I noticed my left hand smelled like flowers. And I’ve never been able to figure out why. I have a feeling someone slathered himself (more likely herself) in a lotion of some sort, and I got hit with a bit of the shrapnel.
But how? What was the source?? It was my left hand only, and I rarely lead with it. In what circumstance would only my Robin hand be infected, and my Batman hand remain unmolested? I became slightly obsessed. I walked from room to room, retracing my steps, and trying to figure out what people do with their left hands only.
And I thought I’d figured it out: flush the toilet. That had to be it! The handle is on the left, so one of them MUST be loaded up with something from Bath and Body Works, or whatever. Right? Wrong. This was a first for me, and in retrospect it was a questionable decision, but I leaned down and sniffed both our toilet handles. Nothing.
I still don’t know how this crime against humanity occurred. I asked Toney about it, and she didn’t remember using any kind of hand lotion that morning. But I think that once a person surrenders to Lotion Culture, a lot of it’s done via muscle memory. The slathering never really stops, and isn’t even noticed by the slatheree anymore. Ya know?
My goal, and it’s not too difficult to achieve, is to smell like nothing. I use no hand lotions, or Purell, or any of that boolshit. I’ve never even used Chapstick; not once in my entire life. And I’d sooner put my arm down the garbage disposal than to use a cologne. What am I, from Argentina? So, that kind of lotion shrapnel thing bugs me, it really does. But I neutralized it with Ivory soap, and all was right with the world again. Thank you guys for your concern.
Yesterday, after dealing with my hand crisis, I drove the older boy back to college. And it was foggy, most of the way. I snapped the above photo on the way down there, and it was even worse on the way back — plus it was dark. I’m not a fan of fog. It scares me, even more than ice, for some reason. I feel claustrophobic, and not in control.
But we made it, and had a nice, normal conversation along the way. Normal being the operative word… He was acting like himself, and not some college-ized version. He’s a good kid, and hopefully he’ll have a good semester. He seemed a little anxious about it all. But that’s to be expected, I guess.
It felt weird dropping him off again, but it wasn’t nearly as traumatic as the first time. There was no 52 year old man sitting behind the wheel blubbering this time ’round. Sheesh. But we’ll miss him. Already do, in fact.
As I helped him carry all his crap up to his room, roughly a hundred people greeted him. Somebody even yelled at him from a fourth floor window. Clearly, he’s got the social part of it down. I asked him why every guy looked like the lead singer of the Spin Doctors, and he just laughed.
When we got off the elevator on his floor, it sounded like an insane asylum. People screaming and yelling… Man, they were whipped-up. Everybody was returning from their big, fat six-week break, ready to go. I have a feeling there was quite a bit of partying last night; they were all swinging for the fences. I try not to think about it…
Inside his room I noticed the framed picture of him and his ex-girlfriend, which surprised me. Why would he keep it? I picked it up, and saw that he’d drawn devil horns on her head, and a third eye. Heh. His roommate, who looks like the lead singer of the Spin Doctors, gave me the sup? chin-lift, and that was the extent of our conversation. He was hanging a Foo Fighters poster, and was fully invested in it.
I white-knuckled it home, and that kinda sorta brings you guys up to date. Sorry I’ve been absent, but things are finally settling down here. We should be back to normal soon.
Have a great day, my friends!