Tuesday, March 20, 2012


Presently nursing a sunburn that is most aptly described as wicked.  I know, I know- and I'm not really whining.  I'm just cyber-whining.  I'd much rather be a puffy lobster-red ahole than living my everyday life, but still....ouch!

SPF 50 sunscreen is a lie.  LIE!  Once upon a time, I believed that most painful place to be sunburned was the top of my feet.  That's wrong.  The tops of my feet, much like the rest of me, are well-done at the moment, but the pain of toasted toes pales in comparison to the pain of two scorched wrists.   Wrists, I have never properly acknowledged how many times in a day that I use you, flex you, abuse you.  Sorry, wrists.  You are hardworking wrists.  I will take better care of you, wrists.   Only the best for you in the future, wrists- SPF 100 is coming your way!

You'd never be able to tell that Little M has seen the light of day, however.  Frankly, I am kind of stunned that the child hasn't drowned in sunblock by this point.  We'll deem this my one meaningful accomplishment in the realm of traditional motherhood.   Let's face it- these days, very few things more loudly articulate to the universe (and the mommy-verse tribunal of judgment) that you are a piece of crap, unfit parent than a child with a tan line.  Even I got the memo on that one.   I'm on the receiving end of enough (mostly-deserved) parental judgment- I don't need to add a rogue tan line to the mix.

(Not that I'm making light of skin cancer, but exactly when did kids with tans become a parental faux-pas on par with having your child build a meth lab in the basement?  Just wondering.  Actually, maybe the tan is more of a faux pas.  I'm pretty sure I know people who would praise the scientific acumen of their meth-lab building offspring.)

I'd venture to guess that my brain has rotted a bit from its general state of inactivity over the last few days.  If not for Facebook,  I would have entirely forgotten that today marks the kickoff of my most favorite season.   If not for Facebook, I would have entirely forgotten that the first day of spring is also the same day of a most baffling tradition- Free water ice day at Rita's.

I.Just.Don't. Get. It.

Now, I love water ice, and I like Rita's.  I'll go to Rita's, on average, twice a week during water ice season.   Where you won't see me....ever again.....is Rita's on free water ice day.   I'm serious.  If the apocalypse were upon us, and the only place I could reach safety was Rita's on free water ice day, I'd just have to die.

About ten years ago, I attempted the free water ice line.  I took one glance at the 100-person deep line, realized that water ice cost (at most) $3 and got out of dodge with my dignity intact- never to return.

It warrants repeating that I LIKE Rita's, and I certainly like things that are free.  The problem, in my mind, with free water ice day is that it combines free sweets with a bunch of things that I truly don't like, which include:

1.  Long lines-  the longer the line, the further the decline of general human behavior.
2.  Other people's children---Love my own kid to the moon and back.  Love her friends, my friends' kids, and very cute kids (I'm talking babygap-ad cute kids) belonging to strangers.   Average children belonging to strangers, in a long-line to boot----NO THANKS.  I'll pass.
3.  My own child in a long line---- because there's only so many times that you can hear the phrase "Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmy, is it our turn yet?" before you seriously consider selling your own kid.
4.  My own self in a long line----I'm convinced that the phrase "ye of little patience" was crafted with me in mind.

I also think in numbers and equations.  Call it an occupational hazard.   Sunshine math indicates that a 100 person line would probably take an hour to clear.  If I were to pay market rate for 3 water ices out-of-pocket, it would cost me no more than $10.  The last time an hour of my time was worth less than $10 was in 1992.  With this in mind, the decision is easy for me.  I can break my water-ice fast on the second day of spring, at the cost of approximately $10----and leave the place with my sanity and dignity mostly intact.

For the record, I am strictly a cherry water-ice kind of girl.

It ain't free if it costs you your sanity,

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