Subject: Manse Diaries: Hysteric Paramedic

Date: 27 Jan 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (MegaLiz)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

 

 

 

 

 

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

shocky-looking.

 

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.

 

Hem.

 

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

in town.

 

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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