Reflections On A Middle-Aged Fat Woman (13 page)

I struggled to get into my seat without bumping her because she had her chair pushed all the way back. I bumped her anyway which set her off about how close the tables were. We had just settled down when the server had taken our orders and said we could go help ourselves at the salad bar.

I went to the salad bar first and left Mom and her coupon guarding the purses. Several people were ahead of me and I waited patiently for my turn. I loaded my plate up with my usual combo which is lettuce, cheese, ham, if available, one small grape tomato, croutons, and ranch dressing.

The line was moving smoothly until the lady in front of me said "Uh, oh, they're out of ranch dressing."

Uh, oh is right. "We'll wait," I said. I WAS NOT going back to my table without my ranch dressing. We snagged an employee that was walking by and informed her of the situation. As the moments lagged on and the backup at the salad bar continued to grow I could hear a familiar voice at the end of the line.

Bitching, complaining, griping, she was wearing the whole restaurant out. What's the holdup? Why isn't the line moving? What's that big girl (me) up there doing? Why isn't she leaving the salad bar? Did she eat all the food?

Now, I'm not immune to such comments and I had just about had my fill of this woman. They filled the ranch dressing container up and I got mine and headed back to the table. The lady had turned around just as I was about to make a scene. Somebody needed to shut her up.

I was seated enjoying my salad and ranch dressing when she came back to her table. Of course, she bumped me as she sat down and that caused her to look my way. Her brows lifted in recognition and she asked what the holdup was at the salad bar.

"They were out of ranch dressing," I replied.

"Well, good heavens! It goes to figure they would run out as short staffed as these places are and they charge you an arm and a leg for a little bitty plate of food. And don't get me started on what they charge for a drink. Honey, you did the right thing by waiting up there even though you held up the line. Well, I better get to eating now, enjoy your meal."

Too late!

Another Mother, Daughter Conversation — September 29, 2009

The following conversation took place on a recent morning when Mom called me at home in a panic. It's twenty-eight miles to my mom's house...

Me: “Hello?”

Mom: “Emergency! I gotta emergency. I need you to come right away and carry Brother to his eye surgery. I locked the keys in the car.”

Me: “But, Mom? It's gonna take me at least thirty minutes to get there if I run out the door right now and then another forty-five minutes to cross over the mountain.”

Mom: “You can make it. You know you drive that Mustang like someone is chasing you all the time. Can you come right now?”

Me: “I haven't even had a shower yet. Why don't you call that guy up the road? He can be there in fifteen minutes.”

Mom: “I need you to come now. Can't you come as you are?”

Me: “Okay!”

Mom: “Hurry! He's gotta be there by 12:30 p.m.” Click! (It was 11:15 a.m. at that point.)

Now, there was no way in hell that I was walking out the door the way I was dressed. My hair was sweaty and matted and my legs were green. I had on mismatched socks, an old bleached out T-shirt, no bra, cut off sweats and combat boots. I'd been weed eating and had only come inside because I needed a drink.

I took the fastest shower imaginable and was out the door in eight minutes. Record time! I took the back way to Mom's house, doing 70 in a 45 mph zone the whole way. I got stuck at a traffic light about three miles from her house when my cell rang.

Me: “Hello?”

Mom: “Never mind. I got it unlocked. Where are you?”

Me: “I'm near the Dairy Queen.”

Mom: “Well, never mind. I don't need you now. At least you didn't have to come the whole way...”

The Wrong Number Always Rings Twice — October 12, 2009

I was gone for most of the day and was surprised to find three messages on my phone when I got home the other day. I knew it wasn't a family member because I had been with my family all day. As I pushed the play button on my answering machine I wondered vaguely if it wasn't Doug calling for Helen again.

"Hi, this is Audry from Mountain Physical Therapy and I was calling to set Ms. Higginbottom up for PT visits. Here's what you need to do. Call this number and talk to Florence who will then call and talk to Mr. Taylor over in the accounting department who will then okay the payment plan and then contact Tonya at the Satellite office to set up the visits three weeks from that point because Heidi is still out on maternity leave.

You'll be her first patient back from leave which will be good because she will want to do a lot of extra work to help her lose some of that baby fat. She said she gained like fifty pounds while she was pregnant and has at least forty pounds to lose. I'm not sure if that means that she had a ten pound baby. Oh, man! That's big! Okay, well, if you have any questions just give us a call."

Click!

That was call number one.

Here's call number two:

"Hello, this is Audrey calling from Mountain Physical Therapy and I just wanted to tell you that I realized that I called the wrong number and disregard everything that I just said. Tonya would be really mad at me if she knew I was telling everyone her business. She doesn't work her patients out that hard but she really does need to lose that baby weight. Okay, well forget everything I just said now and on the previous call. Bye!"

And last but certainly not least, call number three:

"Hi Helen, it's me Doug from Automotive Excellence again..."

What’d The Wedderman Say? — October 19, 2009

"Lord, it's colder than a witch's titty, ain't it?" I heard somebody behind me say.

Oh no, I knew that voice anywhere, it was my elderly neighbor, Merlethem Shatz. I've mentioned before that I usually try to avoid her because it's really hard to get away from her once she gets her claws into you. Today was really not the day to be caught up in conversation because the weatherman said that we might get some frozen precipitation.

In the south, that can only mean one thing: It's off to the store for bread and milk.

I turned around to face Ms. Merlethem before I could stop myself. It's nothing personal but I didn't have time or didn't want to hear about her neck pimples or any other ailments she might have; but, it was too late. She'd seen my eyes, so off she went.

"Back in the winter of '52, when I was a lass back in New Staffordshire, we didn't have all of the luxuries that you spoiled Yanks take for granted. We certainly didn't run off to the market whenever there was a hint that old Jack Frost might be dropping in for a visit."

"Really, what'd you do?" I asked.

"Well! For starters, we made our own bread and had a cow for our milk. None of this fancy bread like Whole Wheat, Potato Bread, or Honey Butter Bread that everyone is so fond of today. We used to call it hardtack or something; you could bounce it off the dirt floor and it would bounce right back to you. That's right, my house had a dirt floor, what do you think of that?"

During Ms. Merlethem’s rambling story I had picked up my gallon of milk and had worked my way over to the bread aisle with her following me the whole way.

"You wanna know what I think of that? I think you talk too much and I've just got the last loaf of bread. Now, whatcha’ think about that?"

The Best One Liner…Ever — May 13, 2009

“Hey, Nana? How ya feeling?” Tonio asked.

“Lord, I don’t know child. I’m afraid to check.”

The Second best One Liner…Ever — November 6, 2009

Sister: “How’s the weight loss going?”

Me: “Gaining every day, thanks for asking.”

We Thought You Were A Hot Guy — October 23, 2009

Recently, I went to an estate sale in my neighborhood. Nobody was sitting outside as I pulled into the driveway but I noticed movement behind one of the curtained windows. I was just ready to get out of the car when my cell rang, so I closed my car door and took the call.

I was still at the end of the driveway but had pulled to the side in case someone else came along. While I was sitting in my car talking on the phone I kept noticing movement behind the curtain. And it had spread! Now, three windows were occupied and they all were staring at me.

I finished up my call and got out of the car and headed up to the carport where some of the estate items were set out. I was looking over the table when the door to the carport opened and three heads were staring straight at me!

"See, I told you," one of them said with obvious disappointment.

"Well, I wasn't sure," said another.

The third one looked at me and saw my quizzical look and said this: "When you pulled up in that red Mustang we thought you were a hot guy!"

Is That For sale? — November 13, 2009

I was crazy enough to have another yard sale before winter set in, by myself. I asked mom if she wanted to come help but she thought I was nuts for trying to have a sale this late in the year and she wasn't participating. (I guess it didn't matter that I was selling her stuff, too.)

Anyhow, midway between my umpteenth visit to the basement, attic, and storage building, my back gave out. I backed into the metal part on my utility trailer and gave myself a six inch long bruise and then I sprained my ankle when I doubled over in pain from bumping the trailer.

Needless to say, it was after 10:30 a.m. this morning before I put my signs up by the road, and by yard sale standards, that was extremely late if I hoped to make

any money.

Since I live at the bottom of a hill I get a lot of folks that slow down and then realize that I am at the bottom of a hill and keep on going. Fine! If you're too lazy to get out and look then you probably want to complain about the prices of everything and want me to sell you a twenty-five dollar item for a quarter. Keep going. I don't want your business anyway.

The third guy that pulled up wanted to buy my utility trailer.

The fourth guy that pulled up wanted to know if I had any mowers I wanted to get rid of. Now, that's a loaded question. I've discussed before about my piece of crap mower and what you don't know is that the danged thing broke down again earlier this year.

I took the guy to the basement and showed him the mower and he started asking if my tools, my fishing poles, and my Christmas decorations were for sale. He made me a tad nervous so I hightailed it back up front.

Weirdo.

Later, someone wanted to buy my leaf rake. Another wanted to by a bistro table (which I don't have) and someone else wanted to buy a microwave.

Mom called early afternoon and asked how things were going. I was bellyaching about my bruised butt (which was the part that ran into the trailer), my ankle that I had wrapped in an ace bandage that was horribly swollen and how everyone wanted to buy everything that wasn't for sale.

Mom's response: "I didn't know you was selling your trailer. How much you want for it?"

Cleo, Mister And Sissy — November 16, 2009

It was late Saturday afternoon and I was beginning to pack up the remnants from my weekend yard sale when an old beat up station wagon pulled slowly down the driveway. I glanced in their direction and was met with three hands stuck out the window all waving in unison at me. "Hey! Are you closed? Do we have time to pick through your leftovers? I told Mister here that we needed to get our butts, pardon my French, in gear or we was gonna miss all the sales and be late for the Singing," the elderly woman said.

"Nope, you're not too late. Have a look around, you might find something that you can't live without and it'll be less for me to pack up," I answered.

The car stopped and out climbed the old woman who was wearing orange lounging pants, a deep purple moo moo and black Chuck Taylor running shoes. Her wig sat perched slightly askew on her head and her straw hat sat off-center the other way giving her a slightly lopsided look.

She approached me immediately, extended her hand and said, "I'm Cleo, that's Mister, who I been shacked up with since '76, when my husband up and died on me. Ain't got no strings on him, he's free to come and go as he pleases, s'long as he pleases me. Hee hee!"

I shook her hand and she continued.

"That lady there is his daughter, Sissy. She stays with us sometimes, usually when her old man goes on a drunk and starts beating up on her. I swan, (swear) for the likes of me can't fathom the way some women put up with them goings on. I told Mister here if he ever laid a hand on me I'd cut it off as fast as I could pull my knife out.

You're old man ever do that to you? Get yourself a knife, that'll keep him in line. Look at me, going off at the mouth like that. Let me get here and see what you got for sale. I'm proud to say I don't ever buy nothin' new; I get all my stuff at yard sales. Hey Mister, you got any more of that snuff with you? Let me get some, this little lady might want some. You like my outfit? I got it last week over at the community thrift store."

Mister, wearing bib overalls, a Grateful Dead t-shirt and a John Deere cap, walked over to us and offered the aforementioned can of snuff. I declined politely and so did Cleo. Mister shrugged his shoulders, drew his head back, and spat out a big ole drop of brown, gooey tobacco juice that left a trail from his chin halfway down to his boots. "Wipe yourself, Mister! This lady don't want to see your spit. Go get your cup."

Mister turned around slowly and headed back toward the car presumably to get his spit cup grumbling under his breath the whole way.

"Lordy, that man is got the manners of a orange katan, what's it called, you know, one of them monkeys," Cleo said.