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Open Mouth. Insert Foot.

My hearing has never been great, especially as a lifetime tinnitus sufferer (I thought everyone heard ringing in their ears. Who knew?). Recently I've begun wondering if I should get my hearing checked again, or maybe I'm just dim.

I'll give you some examples.

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Gorby's developed a nasty habit of dashing out the door when the door opens. Luckily we're at the end of an unmade drive and so in no danger of traffic, but I'm getting pretty fucked off wtih his behavior. He doesn't run away or anything, he simply walks himself down a path we always take him down then returns, but I think that kind of action is out of order.

The other day the wind blew the door open. I was in the kitchen, but upon hearing his nails on the hallway tile I went running, absolutely furious as I knew he'd run off again. There outside the front door was Red Bull, who'd accidentally lost the contents of his wheelbarrow.

Before I saw Red Bull, I was already screaming after Gorby. "You're an idiot, do you hear me? An idiot!"

Red Bull, re-loading his wheelbarrow, looked at me, slightly hurt.

"Um, not you. I'm talking to Gorby."

Red Bull looks at me. "Gorby's not out here."

"Yes he is. I heard him go running."

"No, he's not. He's standing right behind you."

I turn. There, behind me, was the Idiot in question. He'd simply run into the bathroom chasing something when the door opened and not outside, so I'd just stuck my head outside and acted like a mental patient for nothing.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I muttered, closing the door.

****************************

The Cowboy was at the top of the scaffolding, soaking up the sunshine in shorts and a T-shirt.

"Cowboy?" I called up to him. "I need the estimate for the extra doors."

Angus walked up beside me.

The Cowboy, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, grinned down at me. "Now don't be looking up my shorts from down there, Helen. What you see up here might scare you," the Cowboy called down.

Thinking he was talking about the quote, I replied "It's more likely to scare Angus."

Angus froze. The Cowboy froze. I realized how weird all that sounded. "I mean, the quote might scare Angus, not what's up your shorts. That doesn't scare him. Or me." Great. In my attempt to not sound like a dipshit I'd just emasculated the guy. "It could be scary though. Or not scary, just not something to overlook."

"I'd stop if I were you," Angus muttered.

I did.

****************************

Angus' Mum came by to visit us not too long ago. She and I were sitting at the table (when it was still in the house) talking, with Nick sat on my lap.

"Has Jeff been playing computer games still?" she asked.

"Oh yes, he's as keen as ever."

At that moment, Nick started to grunt, turning a color somewhere in the region of raspberry.

"Oh dear, shall I change him for you?" she asks.

"No, it's ok. I'll do it. I'll wait until he's finished, though." Nick has the most unbelievable metabolism, sometimes I don't think the food he eats even hits the sides.

"Has he ever had an accident while you were changing him?" Angus' mum asks.

"Only once. His sister has nailed us more than he has!"

"Has he been playing with his, um, you know," she says, moving her hands around her waist.

"No, thank God," I laugh. "But they don't tell you that little boy babies, they have some good dreams sometimes! It's always so startling to open his nappy and find him pointing due north!"

Angus' Mum turns scarlet. "I - er - I mean - uh - well - " she sputters.

I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"I wasn't talking about Nick's...uh....you know. I meant does Jeff still play with the Nintendo DS?"

Oh. My. God.

"Sorry!" I shriek. "I thought we were still on Nick, but you went back to Jeff! So sorry!"

Angus, having overheard the conversation from the hallway, is in fits of laughter. You don't talk penises with his mum. And you definitely don't talk about erect ones.

****************************

Yesterday The Cowboy, Red Bull, and I all had to empty our boxes out of the loft as the roof is being ripped off today and tomorrow. There's nothing of value up there, apart from Christmas deocrations and box after box of photos. You know, the old-fashioned kind, the ones where film actually cost and you didn't take thousands of photos of babies as they wouldn't just sit in hard drives.

I was thinking about those photos as the guys helped me unload the loft, a precarious activity that required Red Bull to slide the boxes to The Cowboy, who passed them down the ladder to me. I knew in one of those boxes I had pics from my first wedding, pics that showed my enormous chest off. I figured I would get a few photos out, scan them, and blog about them, because I'm all about the caring.

"Wow, Red Bull!" shouted The Cowboy as he passed a box labelled "Helen's Photos" down to me with a wink. "Look at how big Helen's rack is!"

My mind still on my former boobage, I nod. "Oh no, my rack used to be huge."

The Cowboy, clinging to the top of the ladder, looks at me. "What?"

"My boobs. They used to be enormous."

Red Bull sticks his head out of the loft opening. "What did you say, Cowboy?"

"I said 'Look at how big Helen's rat is.' I was trying to scare you, Red Bull." The Cowboy says, looking at me.

I turn purple.

The Cowboy looks at my chest.

I look at my chest.

The Cowboy looks at me.

I look up at the ceiling.

I may never speak again.

-H.

And finally, I give you a scan (and not a very good one) of the published goods.

Posted by Everydaystranger at May 15, 2008 09:20 AM • TrackBack .

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