Flourish in Progress

I try never, ever, ever to start a story with

Well, what happened was…..
or
So, here’s the thing…..

because invariably, anything that comes afterwards will be embarrassing, possibly illegal, or told through the lens of massive intoxication. Also, if I hear anyone else start a tale with those words, I know I’m in for a really good time.

So, here’s the thing….

I got a cell phone in 2002. And,

Well, what happened was….

The first text I ever got was: I don’t think we should talk anymore. To which I replied: But, so, can I still be your girlfriend? I’m still confused about this. Daniel and I had such a good date at Bahama Breeze. Sure, I accidentally farted during dessert, but it’s a natural body function. If you’re going to like me, you have to like ALL OF ME. 

After that, I knew there were going to many, many more gems. I’ve been keeping a little spiral notebook of texts since then.

Texts I’ve sent since getting a cell phone in 2002:

• And that’s why you’re single. If you didn’t know this before, let me be the first to tell you that YOU HAVE A BALD SPOT ON THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD.
• I thought that WAS a date?!? You even said you liked my fucking hairband.
• Did you offer me 7 million DOLLARS or DOLL HAIRS to touch my butt?

Texts I have received:

• I’m sorry my mom said you looked North Korean. We don’t have to go to Sizzlers with her again.
• I’m telling you right now, you have beer goggles on. He is ugly as sin. Walk away slowly. Say your dad just died. Cry if you have to. Don’t go home with him.
• Are you sure Sean is Carol’s baby daddy? In case you haven’t noticed, the baby is not black.
• I am on a date. In bathroom. No toilet paper. What should I do?

Fess up, friends. Have you been on the giving or receiving end of texts that should never, ever have been sent?

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: I don’t even know. 

I’m sorry. I’m so depressed today; I can’t even think straight. I’m blaming it on the cocktail of medications.  I feel like crying, laughing, and busting a cap in someone’s ass all at the same time.

HOW DO PEOPLE TAKE STEROIDS without losing their everloving mind?

At dinner last night, I cried into my spaghetti in front of Cal and Harv. Like I just…I just laid my head down on the glass table and fucking bawled like a little bitch. I didn’t even have the decency to excuse myself and do it privately. I am so ashamed and embarrassed.

I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was that set me off, but I think it has something to do with Saturday night.   My endlessly fascinating and wonderful friend, Jessica, drove in from Las Vegas to keep me company since I had been cooped up inside all week long.

She convinced me that *YES* even if I was swollen and feeling like a crack whore, we should get dressed up and go out to a Halloween party. So we did.

And guess what? I bumped into a few male friends I haven’t seen in a long, long time. Every single one of them wanted to know if Harv “let me out of the house” or was okay with me having a night out on the town or if Harv knew I was out at all.

As offended as I was, I laughed a little and made a joke about how Harv does occasionally let me out of my cage, and he really only whips me when I don’t do the floors right the first time.

I hate the double standard. When we see a married man out, do we ask these questions? I don’t. People are just people to me. Sure, some of them are married or single or boring or awesome or mothers or fathers or bastards, but I don’t assume someone gets to be somewhere or is allowed to do something because of a title or label. Are mothers and wives not supposed to go out? Is that inappropriate? I hate that I care, but my fear is that no matter what I do or how much I accomplish, I’ll only be seen as Harv’s wife or Cal’s mother because there isn’t any room to be viewed as anything else.

Anyway, no funnies here today. I have to go cry now.

P.S. I’m posting a picture from Saturday evening later today on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. I’m supposed to be a maid in case you can’t tell. I tried.
image via Beth Dobbs of Wildemoon Art