Gladys Gets Assy

You know those days you get dressed and you just know you look cute.  Shut up!  I know I’m old but I can still look cute.   You stand in the mirror and your make-up looks just right and not at all like a drag queen or a clown.  Not that there is anything wrong with looking like a drag queen.  I myself wish I could look that good. 

  Clowns are a different thing altogether.  Clowns are evil.  They are.  If you don’t believe me call Stephen King and ask him.  By the way, if you call Mr. King could you then call me and give me his number cause, I mean after all, he is Stephen King and who wouldn’t want to talk to him. 

  I digress.

I was talking about how cute I looked.  I looked Pinterest cute.  I looked fashion blogger cute.  You know, one of those  Fab over Fifty or Fifty something Fashionistas or some such something blogger where every day they post a picture of the cute clothes they found at J. Jill or Lord and Taylor.  I guess I could do one of those post, only I would be over here in my Target top and my Payless Shoes with my Goodwill  jeans and my EBay purse.  Can we say I am a frugal shopper? 

Love the outfit but couldn't afford the sand in her shoe.

 Again, I digress.

I was feeling all cute and sassy in my skinny jeans cuffed at the ankles with my cute little red and white polka dotted top and a cute sweater to top it all off.  I even put on jewelry and finished off the ensemble with a pair of retro Keds.  Remember when you were a kid and you got a new pair of Keds?  Oh MAN!  You were in high cotton, sporting those bright white tennis shoes all new and pretty.  Then at the end of summer they were all grey and stained with holes in the toes from stopping your bike with your feet.    Yeah those were awesome days.   Again I digress.

 

So here I am with this cute outfit and my hairs all done up pretty because my friend Lola had just cut them and styled them all pretty.   My make-up was looking good and I felt good.  I mean really good.  I was going out on the town in my cute outfit good.  Now let me just say that my going out on the town is probably not what you think.  My going out on the town is more I’m gonna go to the grocery store and if I’m feeling really daring maybe even stop in at the thrift store, good.  So here I am feeling all good about myself and my outfit so I hop in my little car and head out. 

Growing up we called it going to town.  My momma would grab her keys and put on her Ray Ban sunglasses, fluff up her bouffant hair and with a Virginia Slim between her lips yell “Y’all come on we’re going to town to get groceries.”  We all went with her because my brother would push the cart over while careening down the aisles at breakneck speeds making race car noises while my sister and I ran screaming at the top of our lungs “he’s trying to kill us or worse”.  My mother would beat on him with whatever she had in her hand and scream “you kids better knock this shit off or I’m gonna beat you in front of GAWD and everybody!”  This must have been relaxing for her because she continued to take us.  Again, I have gotten off the subject.  Shut up!  This is my story and I’ll tell it how I tell it.

Because I was looking so cute and feeling good; I decide to go to an estate sale that just happened to be on my way to the grocery store.  I pull in front of a very pleasant house with ten gazillion cars out front, a big sign that read ESTATE SALE, and one of those fly guy dancing things out front.  I decide this indeed must be the estate sale advertised.  I enter the front door and notice the house is full of big heavy furniture, much too big and heavy to fit in my little car, so I peruse the multitude of books on a shelf.  I determined from the look of the house and the contents of the walk-in closet, that a woman had lived in the house alone.  There were no masculine accoutrements, or where I come from acootermints, to be seen.  Her taste in clothing and furniture were different than mine so I moved on to the kitchen where one of the estate sale clerks stood making sure no one made off with the silverware or the 5000 bottles of vanilla extract.  I made polite conversation with the woman who seemed pleasant enough and told me how cute I looked, I told her it was my new favorite outfit.  I commented that the owner must have been a single woman.  When I mentioned the owner of the merchandise the clerk immediately genuflected and then spat “She was a WITCH!”  Well of course I was gob smacked. 

“A Witch?” asked I.

“A WITCH!” she spat as she again made the sign of the cross.

“Did she turn you into a newt?” I responded skeptically. (you see where I was going with this, right?)

“What?  A newt?  NO!  Didn’t you see all those books on her book shelf?” the worker barked and again crossed herself.

I told her I had indeed seen the Edgar Cayce, MarianneWilliamson and Byron Katie books but told her that didn’t make the woman a witch.  It just made her enlightened.   Again the woman made the sign of the cross and explained that there were OTHER books.  She whispered  “books about harnessing the light and celebrating mother earth and the Goddess Within.”

 

I leaned over in a loud whisper  “WELL I’M NOT BUYING THAT BIG SCREEN TV, SINCE YOU SAID IT HAD A CURSE ON IT” and then walked out the door.  I had planned to go back the next day and see if the TV I wanted was still there at a reduced price because of, well, you know, the curse.  

Stay with me.  I promise this story is going somewhere.  Maybe not where you wanted it to go, but it is going somewhere.

I left the sale and headed  across town still 100% convinced I was the cutest fifty-something out on the town.  I headed to the used book store where again I perused the shelves on a quest to reacquaint myself and my granddaughter with Mr. Potter and the rest of the Hogwarts group.  I was up and down and squatting and moving, shifting and turning and finally found one of the Potter books for a dollar!  A DOLLAR!  What a coup!  I got in the car and excitedly texted Tadpole.  Then I realized, I had bought the same book the day before.  I had two of the same book!  Oh well a grandmother can never have too many Harry Potter books.   The good thing was I still had on my favorite jeans and I still looked cute. 

Why don't they keep the covers consistent?  

I entered the grocery and again there was much squatting and stretching and reaching a kvetching as I pulled the gluten free macaroni from the top shelf and fetched the dried chick peas from the bottom shelf.  Have you ever wondered why they put the chick peas on the bottom shelf?  Is it because no one really knows what to do with chick peas or in fact what they really are.  I finish my shopping and head to my favorite cashier who always has a smile on her face and a sarcastic remark.  She is my kind of happy.  Anyway the first thing she did was comment on how cute I look.  I beamed with pride and told her it is my new favorite outfit. 

I carried my groceries to the car again bending and stretching thinking how much I love my jeans that move with me.  When I returned to the cart to the store a really nice man was collecting money for homeless veterans and let me ask you is there any better cause to contribute to?  I certainly think it is a very worthy cause.  As I fished out my change from my purse the nice man commented on how cute I looked.  I beamed and told him it was my new favorite outfit.  I was feeling especially fashionable,  I strutted like a super model back to my car. 

Back at home I unloaded the bags and deposited them on the counter.  Stretching, bending and squatting I shelved the newly bought vittles and began cooking the evening meal.  I was still feeling especially spiffy in the cutest outfit in the world, when Kahuna came home.   He spun me around and gave me a kiss.  He looked me up and down and said “That is a really cute outfit, but did you know you have a big hole in your jeans?”

I immediately took stock of my jeans “where?” I cried.

Right here motioning to the ass of my jeans.  The whole right cheek of my jeans was completely gone.  I am not talking about a little pinhole or even one of those new holes that really isn’t a hole cause it’s got material underneath but looks like you’ve worn the ass out of your jeans.  I am talking the right down to your drawers hole.   

I had gone all over town with my ass hanging out all day.   Maybe that estate sale was cursed or maybe that was why I found the jeans at Goodwill.