January 12th, 2004

ledbetter tat


Ding. Dong. Fuck. The phone was ringing. Who the fuck is calling me at this hour on a Sunday? Ding. Dong. The bell on the phone sounded like little church bells; insistent church bells from a bad place. I opened one eye and looked at the clock. It screamed back 10:15am. Fuck. It was probably Joe calling. Zzzzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzt. Fuck. Where’s my cell phone. Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzt. I scrambled to the living room in my thermal shirt and boxers. Zzzzzz I answered it before it could let out another of that horrible bee buzzing vibration.

“H’lo?” I managed.

“Howdy!” Joe was cheery. Bright. He was very 10:15am.

“Ugh. I’m just waking up! Where’re you?” I asked, hoping he would say he was just about to leave his house or that maybe he had taken a side trip to Florida from Maryland and wouldn’t be here for another few hours.

“Are you still asleep?” he asked.

“Uh. Yah.” I learned I could even roll my eyes with my lids shut.

“I’m just leaving the metro,” he said, and I quickly did the math – he would be arriving in about fifteen minutes.

“I need time, Joe, dear God, can’t you tell I need time?” I effused in my best Lola Heatherton slur.

“Ummm. Okay,” he said, wanting to be careful with me but ultimately giving in to his impatience. We’d made plans to go see Monster and hang out for the day. I sensed his forward movement toward my door.

“I need Drano,” I announced as if that was the most logical item in the world to request.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, no longer able to contain himself.

“I had a margarita last night and I’m hung over. I need Drano,” I said again, emphasizing the problem, one that he couldn’t possibly have guessed.

“Why do you need Drano?” he said, and I heard his hands go on his hips as he said it.

“The bathtub. It’s stopped up. I just do. I washed Bob and it’s…” I started to say again but he interrupted.

“And you forgot to use a drain screen,” he said, clearly exasperated.

“What’s that? Um. Oh, just gimme another half hour,” I whined.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a half hour,” he hung up and I rolled over, burying my face into the flannel cowboy-themed pillowcases I had washed the day before. Billy and I had bought them in our effort to dress our bedroom into a little boy’s cowboy fantasy. Putting my face on those pillowcases was like rubbing my face in the old West, if the old West was soft and fluffy.

Ninety seconds later, Joe was knocking on the door and I stumbled up and opened it. I guess once I started cuddling those lassos and bucking broncos, I feel back asleep. Who knows? Joe patiently went about pouring in the Drano and soon, I was under the hot shower.

I then spent the next few hours making snide remarks to Joe. I was hung over from one margarita, I was still sleepy, and even though I smelled very Irish Springy, I was still in a foul mood. Oh, well. The movie was good and I walked out feeling like Aileen Wuornos.