Subject: Manse Diaries: Hysteric Paramedic
Date: 27 Jan 1998 00:00:00 GMT
From: email@example.com (MegaLiz)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
Spunky announced that she wanted to attend the library's storytime.
The last time we did it, she freaked out immediately and we left
before the first story was over. I can't really blame her. All the
little ones sit in little rows on the floor of a little room. They
listen raptly to a huge, repulsive, cooing volunteer who otherwise
looks as if she's suffering from a BAD LIFE that has finally led her
to be irrevocably glued into an itty bitty chair, while holding a book
out with one hand so that she must read it upside down.
I shouldn't knock it, really. Since I CAN read upside down, I have
tried to hold library books that way, but because of the plastic
covers they insist on using, every time I do it the books just sort of
squirt out of my hand and thwack some adoring toddler. It's possible
that that has something to do with Spunky's distaste for storytime,
come to think of it.
This time she made it to story number four. By story number three, she
was rolling around under a table, so I had already started to rebundle
Bobo for the outdoors. She hardly needs all that fleece to keep her
warm, what with her impressive blubber layer, but it immobilizes her
too, which is useful. When story number four started, the OTHER
volunteer was signaling me viciously, using every shooing gesture in
her repertoire, short of an actual finger across the neck. Not one to
be oblivious to subtle suggestion, I left before the fat lady sang.
Driving home from the library, I was busy congratulating Spunky on her
increasing civilization, when we saw a cluster of cars in the roadway.
I slowed down to try to scan the action and could see that at least
two of the cars were dented, there were no flares or sirens, but there
were a LOT of women milling around. When I passed, I looked back and
was surprised to see two women in the road. One was squatting and
clutching something and the other was semi-squatting and hugging the
clutcher. I pulled over and barked at Spunky to STAY before I hopped
out of the van.
On closer inspection, I could see that it was only a two-car accident.
Only one of the damaged cars was still in the street, but two of the
witnesses had stopped suddenly and blocked the lane, forgetting their
hazard lights before they wandered in to contribute to the chaos. The
source of the CROWD became clear as at regular intervals women were
jogging out of the corner house toward the gaggle at the curb. There
were SO many of them, and they were so carefully casually coiffed that
it just had to be a Tupperware party or a Mary Kay conclave. None of
these latecomers seemed to notice the women in the road, so I took it
upon myself to take charge of them. The squatting woman was holding a
cellphone and muttering. She didn't seem hurt, but was quite
I thought back to Spunkmoney's New Year's dog post. Having thoroughly
assessed the situation, I was bolstered by divine certainty, so I
reached over and quickly cut her throat, at which point the assembled
Mary Kay Terrors broke into wild applause.
Actually, I marched up to her and her hugging buddy and said, "Y'all
have to get out of the road," and they complied immediately.
The hugger started to wander off while the victim tried to explain
herself to me. I realized that she thought I was a cop. This would
have been a simple mistake for a deeply confused person, I guess,
because I was wearing blue and giving orders. She said that the other
woman had cut her off and that she had JUST dropped her son at
preschool. She said both of these things over and over again. All I
said to her was, "That's awful...That's good...That's awful..."
I reeled the hugger back over to us, and asked her if the undamaged
van at the curb was hers. She said that it was. I told her to put the
clutching woman in her car. "Keep her warm and keep her out of the
street," I said. She complied immediately. Once she was in the
passenger's seat, the clutching woman shuddered violently and started
trying to dial her husband's phone number, since she finally noticed
that she still had her cellphone. I couldn't help her remember the
number, so I left.
When I got back to our van, Spunky was still buckled up and had not
decided to teach herself the fundamentals of releasing the emergency
brake. She hadn't fed any change to Bobo or even changed the RADIO.
THAT was a relief, but I was still disturbed: how could TWELVE women
be so collectively stuporous that not one of them herded those two out
of the street? How could they just STAND there and CHAT and stare at
the growing puddle of antifreeze? I would bet that they represented
twelve college degrees and twelve professional careers on hold. They
were all sporting expensive haircuts and mommy-on-the-loose leggings
typical of our special brand of overqualified, overpaid housewife here
And here I thought that this would be a GOOD town to have an accident
in. No kidding, I really think of these things. I didn't want to live
so far out in the country that some IDJIT would try to give me or mine
CPR while we were still breathing. I didn't want to be like the guy
whose drunken poker buddy put a tourniquet on the OTHER side of the
wound, so that he managed to kill somebody with ignorance and still
feel good about his "quick thinking."
Please, oh, please. I don't mind dying, but PLEASE don't let it be
with some rattlehead pounding on my chest insisting that he learned
everything about resuscitation from William Shatner.
Bobo: "GWICK! Em beh-BWAH-DA!"
Translation: My! That was unpleasant! Please help me keep the
spoon away from the back of my throat next time!
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