|Come on, Billy, out of bed. It's time to get a blow job!|
You're into Japanese fast food
And I drop you off with your Japanese lover
And you go to the beach all day
You're so pretty when you're unfaithful to me
You're so pretty when you're unfaithful to me
“Come on, Billy, out of the kitchen,” I said as I shooed my biggest dog out of the open refrigerator on Thursday night. I moved his fuzzy mass towards the hallway door just as my mum came thundering down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Billy gets a blow job on Tuesday,” she announced loudly from the doorway.
“WHAT?!” I demanded, and I could hear Dad echo my query twice as loudly from the living room.
I gaped at my mother. “Um, Mum...do you know what a blow job is?”
She smiled and put out her hands. “Of course I do, I was making a joke,” she said proudly, and waved her jazz hands like Ta Da! "He's getting a blow out, at the dog groomers."
I swallowed my vomit and turned back to the groceries I was unpacking.
“And Derek, you get...” she started to say, and Dad came tearing into the room.
“Yes? What? What do I get?” he cried.
“You get a...a...a boob job!” she said and howled with laughter, bent over double at her own wit.
I dropped the carton of milk I was holding onto the counter and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the rest of the groceries unpacked on the floor. I walked into my room and dove under my bedspread, where I decided I would stay until the world righted itself again, or my mum promised never to tell another joke for the rest of her life. Whichever came first.
I got neither, but other than that, my week has been going well. All I have to do is pretend that I can’t hear my mother, who every time she sees Billy cries out, “You’re getting a blow job on Tuesday! Yes you ARE!”.
I just finished two days off work, both of which were bloody fantastic. I spent a great deal of time snuggled up in bed with the dogs, reading and writing and watching Daily Show and Colbert Report, while the snow and the wind swirled and swooshed outside my window.
Oh! And something incredible happened just now, here at the tattoo shop.
I had just finished getting a couple of customers started on the paperwork needed before we could pierce them. I looked up to greet the next customer in line, a pretty girl in big black heels.
“Hi, may I help you?” I asked her. The girl was pretty, with long brown hair and a deep purple coat, and she was also M’s Baby Momma.
“Oh my god, hi!” I exclaimed, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I cut my bangs,” she said, brushing them out of her eyes.
“They look nice,” I said, cuz they did.
“Thanks,” she said. “Listen, M told me that you were worried about coming to Baby’s birthday party on Sunday, and I just wanted to come and let you know that Baby and I would both like you to be there.”
My mouth opened and closed a few times, a la gormless guppy fish. “Oh my god,” I breathed, not wanting to say anything stupid to ruin the moment. But of course I did. “For cereal?”
“Yeah,” she grinned, smoothly ignoring my South Park reference. “I was actually hoping you and M could come at six, help me set up?”
Shit! Shit! Shit! I thought. “Shit shit shit,” I said, and bit my lip nervously. “I have to work until seven.” God damn it! The first time we have spoken in a year and she’s offering me a chance to do something together for Baby’s birthday (and hopefully a chance to make her like me again) - why do I have to fucking work?! “Oh, but M gets off work at five, he can help you,” I hurriedly volunteered M’s help without asking him. “But I can help you clean up,” I offered hopefully. Pleeeeeeeeeeease like me.
“Ah, that’s okay, that’s what we’re paying Chuck E. Cheese for,” she said, and we both laughed.
Then she came around the counter and hugged me!
“Baby really loves you,” she said, and I felt a surge of hope.
“I really love her too,” I said softly, hoping this wasn’t the wrong thing to say.
We spent a few minutes exchanging stories about Baby and her crazy obsession with clothing for Misha (my smallest pup) giggling over the clothes Baby wanted Misha to wear and how often she talked about it. Chatting about Baby and all the adorable things she does is something we haven’t been able to do together for more than a year.
When we were finished comparing stories, she reached out and squeezed my hand gently. “See you on Sunday,” she said, and made her way towards the door.
“Baby Momma!” I blurted out as she reached for the door, and she turned around. “Thank-you,” I said lamely. “For coming all the way here, just to tell me that. It just means...it just...it means a lot...”
She smiled. “See you Sunday,” she said again, then she pushed through the door and left.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, unable to believe my good fortune. Then I let out a screech of joy and started jumping up and down at the desk, doing a stupid dance. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” I shouted gleefully as I spun around.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I looked up to see four customers staring at me, bewildered. Ooooops. I had been so excited by Baby Momma’s visit, I had forgotten they were sitting there, waiting for me.
I sat down in my swivel chair and folded my hands in what I hoped was a professional manner, then beamed at them all from behind the counter. “So! Who wants to be first to punch a hole in their face?”