Everybody loves a parade ... except the people who get stuck in traffic ... and, apparently, the people marching

**Another in a continuing, if not sporatic, saga of ... Should Have Iterated Thusly

This afternoon, Annabel and I were in Chatham, not getting lunch (because when we met the man he's already eaten someplace else) -- S.H.I.T.

I suppose I should have made it perfectly clear that "Hey, I'll meet you for lunch" is virtually the same as "Let's meet in a place and eat together sometime 'round about noon."

My other purpose for going to Chatham was to buy a present for my mother's upcoming birthday. Since going shoping with a toddler is in the same ballpark as bringing a pet billy goat to a China shop, smearing it with glue and setting it loose in the glassware aisle, I had hoped the man could entertain her at the ice cream shop. I did not intend for him to let her down in the same store I was perusing, where all she wanted to do is hang from my shirt and cry, or stack Le Creuset crockery in reverse order -- smallest to largest. S.H.I.T.

I suppose I should have made it perfectly clear that "Entertain her while I go shopping" actually means "Take her someplace else and don't bring her back. I will find you when I'm finished."


Surprise Party! I'll kill ya: Unbeknownst to us, turns out it was fire department day in Chatham, which means a long parade of trucks and marching bands meander down Main Street toward the fairgrounds. We discuss whether we should move our cars, which will surely get blocked in and erase our option to leave midway through should a meltdown arise. We finally arrived at a conclusion: I would stay for the parade and he would go home to nap. S.H.I.T.

Perhaps you might have explained that a 'Family Day,' is technically the same as sitting on the couch watching a "Sopranos" marathon. Double S.H.I.T. I will need to remember that the next time I volunteer to melt in the heat with a toddler who covers my eyes, pulls my hair and won't hold my hand.

I suppose I should be grateful. Afterall, we need more alone time, isn't that what he said last week? Course I thought that ment sans baby, avec each other.


Oh, and participating fire departments? S.H.I.T. After waving our fool heads off, clapping and cheering for you folks I've come to the conclusion that it might ACTUALLY kill you to smile or wave back. I had no idea a PARADE in your language meant Pissed And Rancorous Autocade Dourly Exercising. After standing for a while with the kidlet on my shoulders kicking me in the back, I began to keep track of a few things: Six people out of the entire hour-long lineup smiled in our direction. Only four of them waved.

Oh, and back to that alone-time, datenight thing? S.H.I.T. I forgot that it is a term that means the mom must arrange babysitting and come up with a plan for stepping out on the town, otherwise the word means the husband is going to poker night.


I know no one likes a complainer but S.H.I.T. It's not like HE reads anything I write anyway. When he does, he just lets me know the first graph is a little too complex for people to get into. Also ... the funny bits? They're really not that funny.

I suppose I should have explained when I printed out my essay and shoved it under his nose that he was supposed to tell me, in NO uncertain terms, that I am BRILLIANT. There are times when a little lie wouldn't hurt.