This last weekend Bern and I went to Johannesburg to spend the weekend with my girls Cait and Sarah. Cait is leaving for Ireland today and it goes without saying that my heart is in tatters.
We left after work at about 17h30 to start the long 6 hour journey to Johannesburg and the traffic was not so bad. The company was good and for once, we had another cd to listen in the car. We have been listening to Mama Mia since July last year. Our friend Shania mistakenly swooped a cd we had with her Mama Mia cd. Now I do love the sound track and the movie, we even saw the live show, but really how many times can you listen to any one cd. The problem is the radio reception disappears in one part of the journey and this time we had the Carpenters to listen to. Now my friend Michelle would cringe at this confession. It turns out that only strange people can enjoy the beauty of the Carpenter's music.
Well eat your heart out Shell we sung along and listened to the double cd with glee and satisfaction. It was time for a coffee break and an evening take away. We stopped at one of the roadside garages and ordered a bacon and cheeseburger for me and our coffee and club sandwich for Bern. Oh what a mess, the club sandwich is not designed to eat while you drive! Believe me when I tell you Bern was bathed is source and trimmings and relish. By the end of the meal, she was wearing her club sandwich. I don’t know why she does not just throw her food onto her top before she starts to eat as she has an invisible “target” on her shirt that begs to be fed. We call it the curse of the “Brooks Family” as they all seem to do it.
As I was the food handler so to speak, my hands were also covered in this gooey mess as I handed the sandwich over to her. Why do they put so much relish and sauce on a damn take away? This I will never understand – and who really likes all that gunk I ask you?
Juggling the coffee, which is never cool enough to drink, Bern asks for head ache pills and as the coffee is too hot to drink pills with, she asks me to give her the coca cola. So like a good wife. I reach for the pills – pop them out the blister pack. Reach behind me to where the coke is resting in the juice holder. Smile at my wonderful Bern who is driving so responsibly and focused on the high way and this is what happened:
I open the coke; the lid shoots off the bottle from the pressure build up. As I sit there unable to do anything but feel and see the fountain of coke shoot out the bottle head, I am showered with cold sticky coke. It runs down my top past my stomach, deep into the valley of the rolls or lard, makes a quick detour into the belly button, snakes its way down into my lap and inevitably settles in between my legs as it pools into my sitting area.
Bern hears the whoosh, turns to look at me as I am staring at this exploding coke and tries to tell me she did not shake the coke bottle before she put it in the juice holder (ummmm now why did she feels she had to tell me that – is it because she did actually shake the bottle – knowing I would be the one who opens the damn thing? - makes you think doesn’t it.)
Well Bern nearly causes us to go off the road as she laughs uncontrollably as I glare at her and I am speechless as I feel the coke seep into my knickers and nether regions. This is not comfortable I have to tell you. I tell Bern to focus on the road and this of course has the opposite effect, as she cannot contain her laughter. Her eyes are almost shut as she screeches out with loud guffaws and I am sure this is our last few minutes on this earth.
We are in the middle of nowhere. We have just stopped at the closet garage and there is not one for many kilometers ahead of us. I look at Bern, take the damn headache pills myself, and searched for the lid to the coke. I cannot find it anywhere. Grappling around in the dark, feeling around the floor, while my butt is coated in coke. Its damn cold as we have hit the midlands and Bern has the air con on to keep her feeling alert. Not that she needed a wake up shake, the vision of me being washed with coke certainly did the trick. In desperation I look at the window on my side and decide I am just going to throw the offending coke away but Bern reminds me she needs head ache pills………….. Damn. I look in the back of the car, see an empty bottle of coke, and glare at it as if it’s the empty bottle fault. Rip not unscrew the lid off and cork the open coke which is now half-empty thanks to its sudden need to share. That song: “I would like to buy the world a coke and furnish it with love”… just does not cut it…… share your damn coke with someone else next time is my motto.
Bern is still laughing at me with such glee and enjoyment, I tell her it’s not funny and the more I try to admonish her the more she loses control of her giggle box and continues to laugh. I reach for the serviettes from our take away and dab the seat and show her how bloody drenched that area is. If I was expecting sympathy, I was sadly mistaken. All I got was an even louder expression of vibrating laughter. To say I was not impressed is putting it mildly. There were not enough serviettes to make any damage to this wet puddle that I was sitting in.
I grumbled and growled and coughed because I have the mother of all flues and my temperature was already high and now its degrees higher. I swear I am going to kill Bern before I die of sticky cold disgusting coke and I know this will give me pneumonia and I will sue coco cola I swear!
So there I sat, in a state of sticky uncomfortableness. Bern is trying to keep straight face – but she failed miserably. We eventually see another garage off the high way and Bern pulled in very quickly. The coke had stained my beige pants and it looked totally disgusting. Brown coke stain does not look like a coke stain on beige pants I have to tell you.
I genteelly walked to the ladies rest room, which Bern attempted to park as close to as possible. It was freezing outside and my bum muscles clenched without any effort on my part as the wind rushed through the thighs as I walked. Trust me when I tell you it is virtually impossible to walk in a lady like manner when you have coated your privates in coke.
We walked into the ladies room and went into the baby changing room. Only to discover there is no door on this room. Now I had a choice. I stand in the middle of the ladies rest room by the basin and do the cleaning up or I stand in the baby’s room with no damn door and do the cleaning up. I chose the latter. Did I mention it was bloody freezing? So I stripped down to just my bra. Bern had retrieved clothes from the suitcase for me to change into. I duly tried to clean myself with wet toilet paper only to land up with pieces of toilet paper stuck to my whoohoo and butt. Bern was guarding the door to limit the show I was performing for the arrivals in the ladies rest room. I was not impressed as I saw the wet bloody toilet paper sticking to me and just then, Bern turned around to see how I was doing. Well she literally collapsed when she saw the offending toilet paper so prettily sticking to my body and that was her finished. I looked like some damn science project made out of paper- mache. It would have been called “Fat ladies butt” made out of toilet paper!
In desperation and I do not know why I didn’t think of this first. I grabbed my t-shirt, doused it in water, washed the offensive toilet paper off, and cleaned the coke off as best I could in a not so lady like fashion while I bent and turned myself into a pretzel to ensure there was no coke residue left.
Bern was of no help whatsoever as I stood there butt naked trying to keep my dignity. Now this may sound like it took a long time and it sure felt like it took a long time, but we were in and out of there in less than 10 minutes. 10 minutes of absolute hell.
After putting a towel on my seat to soak up the coke that had sunk into the seat we continued our journey. We were on the road for maybe 5 mins when Bern sheepishly asked me if she could now have those headache pills she asked for AGES ago. I looked at her, handed her the coke bottle to open and banned coke for the car forever.
Well of course, I needed to share this with my girls and my son. Why I thought I would get sympathy is anyone’s guess. No all I got was text messages saying whaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, stop it mom, you gonna make me wet my pants, OH MY G you are funny mom! Well I suppose I should know better!
I had sent the text to Bern’s sister, as I knew she would see the humour in it and all I got was a reply… Shell has a wet sticky whoohoo and Carol almost wet her jean pant! Funny ha ha.
That is how my weekend started. I have no idea why I am surprised when these types of things happen to me. I should be surprised. I should just accept that I am the BUTT of my own jokes!
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