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May 10, 2015

I try not to swear.  I know it’s unbecoming to a refined, sophisticated lady like me.  And it’s not attractive in a grisly macho-manly-man, either.  It’s the primary language of thugs, criminals and wanna-be-cools.  But sometimes the only way to truly capture the sentiments of an occasion is to, well, let’er rip—bark a word that really smacks of emotion!


I try to be a good example and most of the


time, speak in my triple-G-rated voice.  (Good Girl Gail!)  But every once in a while I just gotta throw something out with a little more bite.  Like the “S” word.  Now that’s a word with the power to shrivel!  If you ever hear me say SNAP!  you’ll know that I’m at my absolute wits end.  Let me explain.


One day in a moment of sheer insanity, I decide to take some of my grandchildren to the movies.  Three three-year-olds.  How hard can it be?


I have the foresight to slip four boxes of store-bought candy into my bag so I won’t have to pay the exorbitant price of theatre candy.  I herd the quail, I mean three-year-olds to their seats.  Before the previews are in full swing, I hear four words more foul to my ears than a rapper-convict-sailor who’s hit his thumb with a hammer:  I gotta go potty!


Argh!  I can’t take one and leave the other two unattended, so I lug them all to the ladies room, where they each go into a stall. 


“Do you need any help?”  I ask in a fakely pleasant voice?  Of course they don’t.  That would hurry things up and three-year-olds like to take their time.  Five minutes go by and I ask again.


From the first stall I hear, “I’m still going poo poo.”’

From the second:  “Can somebody wipe me?”

From the third:  Silence.  I look under the door and see a pile of clothes and dangling bare feet.  Really?


The toilet flushes and stall one opens.  “Stay right there!” I demand.  I do the honors in stall two and proceed to three.  The kid has completely stripped for the procedure.  Okay, I’ve got this.  Sorta.  Ever try dressing an obstinate eel in a 2x3 box?  I emerge to find a pursed-lipped lady who apparently came in mid-circus.  She narrows her eyes and I can only imagine what she is thinking. 


When all three have washed their hands with mountains of foaming soap and fought over the blow dryer, we stumble over a dozen legs and feet back to our seats.  I pass the candy and settle in, opening my own box of Snaps—you know, those delectable hollow pieces of licorice, coated with a hardened glaze of white, pink and green.  Mmmm!  I could eat them like candy.  


After the movie I’m the one that needs to go potty.  We hit the restroom again and I tell the kids to stay put.  Of course, when I come out they’re gone.  I find two without much difficulty but the third is nowhere to be seen.  Now I'm dragging a creature in each hand and shouting, “Have you seen a little boy?”  


People stare at me.  I sit the two down and threaten them.  Do not budge!  I go outside and look around frantically.  He’s nowhere!  I try to come back in but the door is one-way and has locked behind me.  Ahhh!  I’m losing it!  Making my way back around to the entrance, I grab an employee who gets the manager.  Strangers join in to scour the premises but to no avail.  Now I really have lost it!


Finally, someone finds him curled up asleep in the bottom of a video game car.  Exhausted and in tears I thank all the people who helped with the search.  They scowl at me disapprovingly and I wonder why they aren’t more empathetic?


I speed home, vowing to make this my last gremlin-grandkid outing.  I head for the bathroom for some alone time to swear.  When I look in the mirror I am horrified.  My face, chin, mouth and teeth are stained bright pink and green from the Snaps.  Ohmygosh, I look like a raging lunatic!


I probably should have had my mouth washed out with soap at this point, and not because of the candy residue.  Suffice it to say, SNA-AP!  Excuse my potty mouth.



*Favorite Response:  "That's a hell of a story!"  It's all true!




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