You Did NOT Just Say That

I don't even know how to start this because I start rolling into a fit of laughter only I can understand and it reminds me of those morons who think they are all superior when they make a snarky comment and then say "inside joke". Except the inside joke is really between myself and myself.

I was at the tail end of a 2 day meeting in Long Beach, CA. I rarely travel and if I do, it's never to some place that is 20 degrees warmer than where I left so I was a touch ecstatic. But leaving the boys behind just sucks and that was something that wasn't so ecstatic-like.

But just when these moments were getting to me, I get a text. From Jill. She had spotted our 3rd grade teacher in Costco. 3rd grade was the first beloved school year that Jill and I had the same teacher. We had DREAMED of the day our desks would be side-by-side. And oh YES, we would wear these matching dresses trimmed with satin ribbon that Jill's mother had made. Jill's was pink. Mine was purple. Jill and I also wore dresses every single day to school except for gym days. And considering it was 1986 and we weren't governed by the Catholic Archdicoese of Detroit Code of Parochial School Conduct, this was highly freaking unusual.

While I'm 2000+ miles from Jill and her Costco encounter, I might as well have been there. I was technically standing outside of the Queen Mary with co-workers debating about whether the ship was built by Titanic ship builders and should we go up to get a drink while waiting the few hours for our flight back to Seattle. But I wasn't even contributing to the decisions or even absorbing where I was standing. I was back in 3rd grade.

Because you know what I said in 3rd grade? My big fat mouth sat in my desk dawdling around waiting for the day to pass. Some kid had to go to the bathroom while some other kid was taking forever. When Mr. Kantz finally realized how long it had been and said "Where is she?" I took it upon myself to say out loud "Well. Maybe she fell in." Well. Nine-year-olds erupt when dumb stuff like that gets said and Mr. Kantz also turned beat read, holding the bridge of his nose, completely busting his gut laughing. Just then, the holding-up-the-lavatory-pass culprit appears at the classroom door to the volcano of laughter and soon discovers her lengthy stay has caused the dumb boys to make flushing noises for the rest of the day.

By now I'm on the Queen Mary. We are in an art deco bar with windows all around facing the Long Beach city front and the water. Except. There are dudes swinging by on ropes for an MTV show and roadies walking around. I don't make this stuff up.

But. I nearly dump my drink over after the next text. I asked Jill if she said hi to Mr. Kantz. She texts back that no... because her kids were being a$$ clowns. I doubled over, spewing laughter that nobody around me understood. She did not just say that. SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT. Jill's mother use to call us 'hamburgers' if we were being aggravating. A$$ clowns??? That's what she said. That's what my best pal said. I had never heard that term before.

And just as quickly as I wafted there, I was whisked out of 3rd grade because while you might call some kid an A$$ clown or dream them up as being swallowed with the violent flush of a commercial grade toilet, you don't have children hampering your life in 3rd grade. My head continued to drift back towards Seattle.

Joshua was sleeping in my spot when I got home. He'd left a lamp on for me.