During the game, I kept feeling how squeaky clean the inside of my mouth was. I noticed that around my gumline was a little sensitive after all it had been through and forgot about it. After the game it was decided that the ballteam and their families would go to a local restaurant for dinner because the restaurant owner said he’d donate 10% of our check back to the baseball team.

At the restaurant they were having a sale on alcoholic drinks (rumrunners). I was not going to get a drink since it was a function with kids but the lady next to me ordered a rumrunner and I took it as a sign. A sign to order a Jack Daniel’s & Diet Coke to calm my frazzled nerves.

I really really despise these sorts of functions. I hate it when people ask who I am and I say “BB’s stepmom” and either they don’t hear the “step” part and say “oh, BB’s MOM!” while I feel like a fraud because I don’t want to correct them or look at me weird because I’m a steppy. I always feel like they’re thinking that I’m a second-class citizen. (Which is pretty fucked up thinking considering how many people are divorced and remarried nowadays.) Tonight’s lady didn’t hear the “step” part and I worried that LB (who was sitting right beside me) would be mad/upset/wtfe because I didn’t correct her. Or maybe he would be upset if I DID correct her. Maybe I overthink shit.

Guess what happens when you drink alcohol after having your teeth cleaned and bleaching the skin off the inside of your mouth? The burning that you felt while bleaching your teeth is miniscule when compared to your tongue feeling like it just split down the middle and fire ants are running out of it while wearing tiny golf shoes.

Sweety saw my grimace when I took the first drink and started to telepathically give me shit over buying a drink. (Seriously, he can twitch his eyebrows and I know exactly what he’s thinking.) So I had to tell him that it wasn’t that I couldn’t handle the drink – it was that it was melting my tender mouth. Maybe I shouldn’t order a drink when I’m nervous. Though I did quit twitching my leg up and down and wringing my hands and gnawing on my cuticles by the time I was halfway through with the drink.

I don’t know if I was relaxed or if my brain was too busy devoting all pain signals to my mouth.

You can tell me something and even if it doesn’t sound quite right…like not medically possible or just infuckingsane…

If you are my friend or a trusted loved one I will believe you. I will argue with people and swear that if you said it then it must be so.

I’ve decided that 2010 will be The Year Of Suspicion. Toughen myself up.

Let’s have a debt amnesty meeting!

Is that like library book amnesty where you take your overdue book back but don’t get a fine since they’re happy to get the book back?

Yes! You bring me all of your debt and I will not ask where it came from. I need to know how much you owe so we can fix this.

Okay!

I was at the computer, looking up credit card statements and scribbling numbers down on a piece of paper. We were going to have the meeting after supper. I was going to type up all of my numbers nice and neat so they wouldn’t look so threatening. I needed to go cook so I slid the paper into the laptop and closed it.

About 10 minutes later I heard a strangled cry from the living room. Oh, shit. He looked at the list before it was done! He came into the kitchen and whacked his head on the table a few times.

Hey! You weren’t supposed to look at the list yet! I’m not done with it!

WTF? You have MORE to put on here?!

No, no, no! I was going to type it up and make it pretty! So it wouldn’t be so shocking.

You can’t polish a turd.

After the meeting, (he did let me type things up along with how much money I bring in) I told him that I imagined that I felt like a Catholic after being in the confessional booth.

He said it was amnesty but his curiosity is getting the better of him.

Can’t say that I blame him. I’m nosy and would want to know where the money went but I can’t give him one good giant answer. It got pissed away. I have volunteered to order my credit card statements so he can peruse them. He just has to do it when I’m not around and then not say a word to me about anything he reads. He has not taken me up on the offer. I hope he doesn’t. It would be embarrassing.

WHAT did you buy? You don’t have anything BIG around here.

You said it was amnesty! You weren’t going to ask!

*crickets chirping*

I don’t know. Little stupid things.

Do you know how many little things you’d have to buy to amount to this?

Yes. If there’s one thing I’m good at – it’s spending money…I have my books to show!

But those books are a tiny dent in the mountain. So every time I asked you how you paid for something and you told me not to worry about it?

Yes. Think of every single time you asked that and there is your answer.

Oh my god. *insert more head banging here*

The last conversation took place as he was getting ready to shower. No matter how serious the conversation, I have a hard time holding in giggles while his back is turned to me and I can see his scrotum waggling around. It’s a mood lifter. I wanted to touch it but sensed that the time was not right.

Every now and then he’ll look at me and name something off that the money could have bought. So far, my favorite has been, “Dancing stripper clowns! You could have had them come to the house at least 3 days in a row and STILL had change left!”

We had a meeting like this awhile back but I strayed from our original plan. I’m serious now. I haven’t touched a credit card in a few weeks. I’ve got to get this shit paid off so I can entertain the idea of quitting my job for awhile and having a Chickie Junior.

It still feels itchy. More invasive action is required.

I poke in there and feel something.

*scratch* *scratch*

Out comes something tiny, white and wormlike on my finger.

Holy shit! I have a brain worm! Gag! Gag! I’m gonna die! This is only a tiny bit! The rest of it is still squirming around in my brain! AAAAAAGGGGHHH!

How am I going to get it OUT of there before I go crazy and start banging my head against the wall?

*insert horrified squeaks here, maybe some panicked tears*

Wait a minute…..

It’s plastic! Plastic from my earbuds that are disintegrating!

Phwew. That was a close call.