So, my mom just found out that the pain in her low back isn't a kidney infection, it's a herniated disk. So the doctor gave her 10 days of muscle relaxers to try to get it out of spasm so they can take some films for comparison to her other films from when the bones in her neck went all hooey. No, this story doesn't end with me taking several of them and feeling terrific.
So, the Dodge place in Wharton called to say a part she had ordered was in, and I had the munchkin for the day, so mom was going to drive over and pick it up herself. She's on day 6 of muscle relaxers, so I was "helping" her find her keys. Okay, she was pacing back and forth and getting in my way while I looked for her keys, then she'd bump into me and go, "What was I doing?" with this look on her face like she was trying to remember who I was. Then she found her keys, picked them up, dropped them and paced off to the other end of the house. Two seconds after the keys left her hand we had this conversation:
Me: "Mom, what are you doing now?!" (frustrated and shrill)
Her: "I'm LOOKING for my KEYS!!!" (more frustrated and more shrill)
Me: "THESE fucking keys that you just had in your FUCKING hand before you went to fucking PSYCHO PILL LAND!?!"
Her: "I guess so?"
So I put the bambino in the car seat and drove her, obviously. And she's halving the dosage because I told her if she loses her glasses one more time I'm putting her in the home with the lowest rating I can find, wherever will take her for only her SSI check.
Shut up, you didn't have to help her "find" her glasses 25 times yesterday. That's right, I fucking counted.
Anyway, that's not even what this story is about. That's just why I was driving 15 minutes down the highway with a highly irritable 2 year old and a cranky, drugged older person. And the kiddo was starting to have a serious fit strapped in back there and I was doing the quasar-fast eye back-and-forth thing you do with a kid throwing a fit when you're about to crash the godddam car because your mom won't STOP FUCKING SINGING.
And here is the point of my story: I threw the kid's daypack in the backseat and had her pull out her just-in-case pair of emergency panties and put them on her head like a hat, and we started calling her Panty-Head and telling stories (and yes, even singing songs) about Panty-Head and she was laughing and I was laughing and mom was laughing and no one had to die in a firey car crash of death.
The End! Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about how this evening a Pineapple saved the lives of several young women who angered me...