Y'all are always on my mind

Basically, gravity and me are not friends. Never have been.

Um, Kiki (I can hear you thinking, you know…it’s my blogging super power) how can you and gravity not be friends? Gravity is wonderful!

You know what? MAYBE TO YOU IT IS.

But YOU don’t have a pepper foot, do you? No, I didn’t think so Mr/s SmartyPants.

Before I start ranting nonsensically about all the many ways gravity conspires against me, I suppose I should just get to the point.

The talented Lorrie was the first person to catch the reference to the Lewis Carroll poem in yesterdays blog, so I told her that she could have a prize and even thought I offered her pocket lint, she elected to take door prize number 2, some Andes mints. Now, Lorrie is a girl from The Big City and she sometimes mocks my quaint Wild West ways (like the letting kids run wild through the countryside/city/neighborhood part and the carrying a revolver everyday part), so I thought “hey! I’ll toss in some hilariously tacky tourist stuff”. Now, as a general rule, with the notable exceptions being maybe the penis gourd or the random life sized foam animals for target practice or maybe that copy of Joe Dirt, I do not have tacky crap at my house. Which meant I had to go and find some at the ghetto mall. Because the dirt mall is closed on weekdays, obviously.

So after taking the picture of the Ostrich skin tiger print elf boots with the sparkly vagina-looking spot on the toes that make it look like the wearer kicked a fairy in the hu-hu,

(note the matching belts & belt buckles!)

I wandered into the “gift” shop.

Typical of all gift shops it was CRAMMED with lovely, lovely treasures. So there I am, picking up and discarding spiders entombed in acrylic, resin “realistic” cow skulls and Kokopelli’s crafted from paperclips, I found JUST the thing I needed. Hot sauce. Better yet, DUMB ASS HOT SAUCE. Oh, yes, that’s its name. Way better than “Kick Ass Hot Sauce” in my opinion. So there I am, delighted with my own cleverness, I grab the bottle and in slow motion watch it fall.

And of course it shatters.

And OF COURSE it sprays my entire leg with hot sauce, coats my foot, fills up my shoes, hoses the lower shelf and begins, immediately to make my eyes water with the overwhelming odor of habanera’s.

And OF COURSE the more schmuck working runs over to see if I am okay, while my husband and his friend laugh their asses off in the corner, because this is, after all, not the first time I have done something to embarrass myself in a mall. So while the poor, skinny, underpaid, solicitous boy begins to mop at my saucy foot and apologize for the rudeness of his picante bottles, my only thought is “SCORE! Blog fodder!”



PS....when you spill hot sauce on your foot, it tingles.

PPS....if it's good hot sauce it will continue to tingle even though you've washed it and showered and it's more than 12 hrs later.

PPPS...if you get it on your hands, DO NOT RUB YOUR EYES even after you've washed your hands 6 times.

PPPPS...I can hear you laughing.