Last Saturday we went to the drive-in and watched a double feature. Gnomeo and Juliet, followed by Tron.
SO, all you mom's out there know where I was on the following Monday right? Vacuuming out the popcorn encrusted van.
I used to try and keep it clean by giving 3 or so popped kernels to each child in a tiny little bowl. It only took 5 minutes of consistent tapping and silent motioning at their bowls every millisecond to end that. They were disturbing the previews I love (I'm one of those that forces frowning children to sit through every single one of them on rented dvds). I ended up throwing the entire box at them and spent the rest of the movie in "peace" (ha) and ignoring the smell of melted butter that threatened to be "one" with the carpet of my van for many..many..years.
Now back to Monday, I have a 30 minute window between picking up the Scientist at the elementary and then going to the Jr. High to pick up Ms. Thang. I decided this would be the perfect time to squeeze in the job.
I'm in mid-work out, sweating like a pig, my shirt is clinging and my bootie crack is probably taking quarter tips for the viewing of my tramp stamp now streetttchhed across my "not 20 yr old" lower back. I am WAY past the point of adjusting my clothing. Every single time I do this, I forget how much of a work out it is for a fat girl to vacuum a van ( which I now refuse to call a mini-van and am leaning more towards aircraft carrier!) on my hands and knees, sliding seats back and forth, crawling and reaching in places my body wasn't meant to be. I wore a long sleeved button-up shirt too. You better believe the sleeves were pushed up. It was bunching on me, and the buttons were gaping, exposing parts of me that even I don't look at. Luckily for me, the place I use has vacuums in the back, far away from the street, kind of hidden by the car wash area.
I sometimes wrangle the Scientist into helping, but he isn't that great at it (as his interest in getting every piece is at a zero) so I was letting him run around the parking lot.
Out of the corner of my eye I see someone pull up entirely too close to me, with their window open and for a split second I thought some creep was going to take my crack's offer and slip a quarter in. Instead, I turned to look a bit more and it was my Honey's Uncle D.
For a minute, I wished it had been a creep. Don't get me wrong! I love Uncle D, but he just caught me looking absolutely disgusting and being a terrible mother, letting my child peruse the parking lot, probably picking up drug coated pennies and rusted beer caps. Plus, if he found me, the idea of being hidden back there away from the main street was thrown out the window and I didn't even want to think about that.
Uncle D didn't even bat an eye and actually walked up and held the hose so it wouldn't keep beating Cutecumber in the face while she slept, as I had apparently been doing for 5 minutes.
He also hung around and chatted for a bit, laughing as I made the Scientist empty his pockets before he got in the van so I could make the final call on what would be coming home with us. He made the comment that it was like seeing my Honey as a child all over again. It's funny because as he stood there, leaning with his hand on the trunk of his car, he really favored my Honey as well. I've always thought so, in looks and demeanor. That's probably why I like Uncle D so much.
One year, we were all at my MIL's house watching their old movies at Christmas, and a little clip of Uncle D came on. There wasn't any sound, but Uncle D was shirtless and tan, wearing nothing but jeans and sporting a long wavy blond surfer do, classic 70s heart-throb. He was strutting around showing off some muscle car he must have owned, probably exaggerating it's speed. I looked over at him and saw that ol' spark in his eye, remembering that car and those days.
"Who's the hottie?" I said aloud smiling as he blushed, but then it was my face that burned red as my MIL said "It's D, and he was around 15 in that shot."
I spent the rest of the day feeling like a pedophile, which really amused my Honey, who still dies laughing as this story is retold at holiday dinners.