We’re finally home from our spring break trip. Sadly, I didn’t return sunburned or hungover or even sporting a few nasty Mexican jailhouse tats to proudly show off at the next PTA meeting. (And I can’t even tell you how incredibly disappointed I am about that last one. I thought this would finally be the year I’d be able to trump the spectacle that is Missy Bradshaw’s humungo lip injections.)
Anyway, I’m thinking that maybe, just maybe, the big reason I don’t have any fun vacation souvenirs to display right now is because we actually spent our spring break week in Portland. Oregon. Awww, yeah. It was rain, rain and more rain. And then, right when I was about shave my head so my hair didn’t look like Weird Al Yankovic’s anymore, there was just a little more rain to top it off. Delightful.
Finally, after five days of wet feet, cold hands and being repeatedly jammed in the eye by Jack’s lethal “Power Rangers” umbrella, we couldn’t take another day, so we peeled off our Gortex, jumped in the rental car and headed straight out of town. To Seattle. Yep, I’ve got the travel agent skills of a moron. (Also, believe it or not, the old Space Needle didn’t have even ONE Hot Thong contest the whole time we were there. Or even a Best Chest In The West contest. I honestly don’t know how that city expects to get any tourism. I really don’t.)
But while I have many more fun stories from the trip, I first have to write about what happened today. After getting in late last night, I woke up Sam this morning and took him to school a few minutes after the bell rang. And, since I thought I’d just be running him into the office where nobody would see me, I guess one could say that I didn’t put too much care into my appearance. Of course, one could also say that I wasn’t wearing any make-up or a bra or matching clothes, that I had a big blob of pimple cream on my cheek and that I still sort of smelled like a worn-out seat cushion from an American Airlines 737, but I’m sure one wouldn’t want to be quite that nasty, would one?
Arriving at the school, we got out of the car, took one step into the parking lot, and suddenly, a loud, screeching wail pierced the early morning silence. We soon saw that it was the school’s fire alarm announcing an impromptu fire drill. Fantastic. Within seconds, the entire school emptied out in front of us and we instantly found ourselves standing smack dab in the middle of 500 people. All looking right at my blob of pimple cream. I immediately crossed my arms tightly around my braless chest (which, ironically, would have been a good look in South Padre), then inelegantly tried to pull Sam through the crowd to find his teacher.
Finally, after being greeted by EVERYONE I KNOW (who all looked at me like “Dear God, what a shame, she used to be so sober”), I found the teacher, handed Sam to her and turned to make a quick escape. Unfortunately for me, however, I then saw that my car was now being blocked by a rather large fire truck that had apparently shown up to give the fire drill some authenticity. (And also to provide the teachers with a few moments of firefighter eyecandy. Or so I hear from the gossipy lunch lady.)
Since I couldn’t move my car, I had no choice but to walk home, rather than wait around and experience even a few more minutes of public humiliation. I mean, a girl can only take so much, right? I hitched up my droopy sweatpants, smoothed down my unwashed hair and headed off on foot. Then, once on the street, I took a deep breath, smiled to myself and decided to shake off what had just happened. After all, it was a brand new day today. It was spring. It was a time of bright beginnings. So I told myself to just relax and regroup and really enjoy my half-mile walk home. And then it started to rain.
Next year, it’s spring break in Dubai.
(But all kidding aside, I totally love both Portland and Seattle and had a grand old time at my alma mater in Eugene, the U. of Oregon. Even if I did look like Weird Al.)