Well, Here's That Third Thing I Was TOTALLY EXPECTING.
Remember how, last week, after running my car into a pole and falling down the main staircase in my office, I predicted that a third, evil thing would befall me, because misfortune and tumbling has a tendency to come in threes?
Well, guess who was right. I WAS RIGHT! I WAS SO, SO RIGHT!
I wasn't injured. My car is fine. My pride, however, has suffered a mortal blow. It is dead. Also dead: dignity. Also also dead: ability to look neighbors in the eye, now that they have seen me BUCK NAKED. Yes.
Sometimes, I get emails from people who are all, "Oh, come on, nobody can fall down so much/have their clothes fall spontaneously off of their bodies/have boobs pop unexpectedly from sundresses with the frequency of which you write."
To those people, I say: YOU CLEARLY DO NOT KNOW ME IN PERSON! PEOPLE WHO KNOW ME? THEY KNOW TO EXPECT SUCH THINGS! EVERYONE HAS SEEN MY BOOBS!
And, you guys, I am seriously the biggest klutz I know. I cannot walk in a straight line, people, and I live in everloving fear of a sobriety checkpoint, because I could not walk in a straight line if I had just returned from six weeks in a convent, in a cave, UNDER A ROCK, without even the THOUGHT of alcohol within a seventy square-mile radius. It does not matter! I can't do it! I will fall down! And then I will go to jail!
So, it is not terribly surprising that I would, ultimately, end up naked in front of the neighbors. Holding a dog. No, that is not surprising at all. Except...well, maybe it was a little surprising to the neighbors.
So anyway. At the outset, let me just say that this story is actually a HAPPY one, because things could have been WAAAAAAY worse, and this could have had a very unhappy ending, and could have been very tragic, but instead it just ended up being really fucking embarrassing. And, you know...really fucking embarrassing, I can handle. In fact, I handle "really fucking embarrassing" on a pretty much daily basis. So, nothing new there.
What happened, was that I got home from work. And it's been raining here, like cats and dogs, thank-you-Dennis raining, EVERY DAY, so I figured that the guys who usually cut my grass hadn't come to cut said grass in the TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR that was the Atlanta sky this afternoon. But apparently? Wrong. I was wrong.
And so I went inside, not noticing my freshly shorn lawn, and let out the dogs. Only, because of the rain (see: Torrential! Down! Pour! above), they were like, "Uh, no."
Three of them were, at least. Bo, Tasha, and Puglsey all looked at me like, "Seriously? You want us to pee outside? In...that weather? Because, you know, we're not going. We'll just pee on something else, thanks. Something valuable. That is supposed to stay dry."
And off they went, to various places in the house, to find something expensive to relieve their brown selves on.
But not Gimmme. Oh, poor Gimmme. Who is totally blind, and generally confused, and who went outside, all, "YAY! OUTSIDE! Why am I wet? DIGGING! OUTSIDE! I'm really getting wet, you guys! You guys...? OH! DIGGING!"
So I left the door open, so Gimmme could eventually realize that, OH, RAIN, and come back in.
He's not...the brightest bulb, y'all. I love him immensely. But, bless his heart, he is dumb.
Anyway. So, I decided to go upstairs and take a shower while Gimmme dug to China out there in the yard, and I got to my bedroom, and I got undressed. And I was standing there, NAKED, when I heard this:
Huh, I thought. That dog sounds like Gimmme. But it can't be Gimmme, because Gimmme is in the back yard. And that bark came from...somewhere else.
And then I heard it again.
And this sort of fascinated me, because Gimmme's bark...kind of distinctive! It's a questioning sort of bark. It is less "bark!" and more, "bark?"
So, still naked, I looked out the window. And there, headed up the DRIVEWAY, TOWARD THE STREET, is Gimmme. Bark?
And I panicked. A blind dog + traffic = TRAGEDY. WITHOUT QUESTION. It also = NO TIME TO PUT ON CLOTHES.
So I grabbed a towel, the only thing nearby, and slid down the stairs and out the door, to catch Wayward Wandering Dog, who was HAPPILY heading for the street, barking (?) and wagging all the way.
I caught up with him just as he made it to the intersection, at exactly the same time that a car rounded the corner. And I was faced with a dilemma. Do I:
(1) Hold onto my towel, thereby risking that the very short Wayward Wandering Dog will be flattened by the approaching vehicle, OR DO I
(2) Ignore the fact that said towel is slipping from my grip, dive forward, and SAVE Wayward Wanderer?
Now. People. Do y'all even have to ask?
I left the towel, and MY DIGNITY, on my street, and dodged out in front of the car, grabbed my happy little traveler, turned, AND RAN LIKE MY ASS WAS ON FIRE.
Also, I grabbed my towel on the way back.
And, y'all, Gimmme was so proud of himself. He happily barked (?) all the way home. All, "Mom! I went to a place! That was not the yard! And I couldn't see it! Because I'm blind! But it smelled! Like not the yard!"
And I returned to the house, where I saw that the guys who cut my grass had left the gate open, thereby directly leading to ESCAPE: 2005. AND GOOD CHRIST, I HATE THEM ALL.
SO, basically...I have no idea of who saw me naked. I was running too fast. But it was definitely...Someone.
It could have been the little old man who lives across the street. It could have been someone coming home from work. It could have been a mom with a car full of pre-pubescent boys, who will have something to ponder for MANY A NIGHT, because I just exposed them, for the first time, to very-quickly-moving-nipple. Not ideal, but when you're twelve, IT WILL DO, and it is better than SQUIGGLE PORN. Someone will be changing the sheets tomorrow morning, is what I am saying.
As soon as I got back inside, I called my father (obviously) and related the whole story, detail for EXCRUCIATING DETAIL. And I was like, "What will the neighbors think?" And he pointed out that (1) Nude woman + (2) wayward dog + (3) Street = a PRETTY FUCKING OBVIOUS TABLEAU, Dear.
"They knew exactly what had happened," he told me. "It's like one of those paintings that tells a story. The sight of you naked...told, uh, a story."
Fine. Whatever. They got one story. The story it told to me was MAKE SURE THE FUCKING GATE IS CLOSED, YOU NUDE MORON. Lesson learned, God!
So, anyway. Now, apparently, I have to move. If any of y'all have any suggestions for where I can go, where a little...you know, nudity, won't terrify your neighbors, I'd love to hear about it. In the meantime, I'll be at home, wrapped in blankets, and swearing to NEVER BE NAKED AGAIN.