The Mini Van Soap Box

It all started with my folks having to go downtown. He had a "thing" at work. She wanted to go see it. I said I wanted to go too.  What follows is why my mother and I should not be allowed together, in public, without supervision.  Or maybe just not allowed together at all.  Or maybe neither one of us should be allowed out of our homes- regardless of if we are together or not.

We don't go downtown all that often. So when it happens it's kind of an experience. We have to figure how we're going to get there, what we're going to wear, what time we're going to leave, when we'll get home, when the sun will rise, what we will be doing every second we are there, and what shape the moon will be in later that evening.  It's kind of a big deal.  Which to the males in our lives...going downtown is kind of .... "meh".  They do it everyday.

We had a few hours to ourselves to just walk around - no problem. Shops, sightseeing, people watching. Turns out this week is the Policy Unity Tour downtown, so there are about 5 gazillion cops downtown. Makes you feel pretty safe actually. They are pretty easy to pick out - turns out cops come from far and wide to unite for fallen brothers & sisters.  However, they can get pretty rowdy when the sun goes down.  While standing at a street corner waiting to cross...MY mother says:

"You could jaywalk anywhere in town today and no one would care since all the cops are probably already drunk!"  and from directly behind we hear...

"Not quite yet"

Turns out we were standing right in front of a cop and his lovely girlfriend.

Score 1 for Mom and I.

Shortly after that we were chased down an alley by some crazy man talking to himself...or us....or his imaginary friend. We really didn't want to stick around and ask him who in the hell he was talking to.  Or if the voices spoke back to him.

And after THAT some greasy guy asked me for money, and when I POLITELY shook my head.....Well, let's just say he said things about me that I won't repeat on this blog.  And y'all KNOW the language I use on this blog.

When we finally made it into his office, we learned that apparently my mother and I are wanted criminals.....Because it's the kind of office where we have to wear tags with a big red V on it and be escorted every where we go.  Including the restroom.  So, it was actually all very cool and spy'ish. Except I learned that my mother can't be cool when trying to be stealthy trying to sneak to the bathroom without trying to be noticed.  I'm never taking her to break into a bank.  She'll totally break my cover.

That was after we were locked in an office for an hour and decided to put lotion on our feet because we had nothing else better to do. And then realized that the lotion was so slippery and gooey that when we put our shoes back on we both fell flat on our faces. So we spent a good 10 minutes trying to wipe the lotion off - only to realize that we were trying to wipe the lotion off with tissues with lotion built in.

You need to understand at this point in the story that we have yet to actually start the reception or meet another living soul.  We just do this when we're alone.  And frighteningly so, sober.

We managed to get our shit together by party time. We were cool, calm, collected.  We met people, we shook hands - we were thrilled to meet all the folks he worked with. It was a great reception.  We met people we've only heard stories about - and finally got to put faces to names.  And apparently for them as well.  People seemed excited to meet us as well.

And I have to say - I think I have "some girls" now.  Even if I did say to one of them that the lady bug pendant that she was thinking about buying was, indeed, not cute.  And they did ask me a few times if my soda was, in fact, ONLY soda.  I'm sure that was said out of love.

We ended the day with a final restroom break and while using the facilities I chatted away at Mom's feet.  Only to realize while standing out in the hallway waiting for her - that my Mom was on the other side of the building.  I have absolutely no idea who the hell I was talking to in the bathroom.  Or what the hell I said.