a day in the life...

As a prelude to the flustering memoirs to follow I dedicate this blog, with a humble heart and much gratitude, to the empathetic fellow who accompanied me Saturday afternoon during a routine stroll through Walgreens gone awry.

It is on those days that seem almost too perfect when I seem to sense mayhem brewing on the horizon similar to how, on a beautiful sunny day, sometimes lies a vague suggestion of rain in the air.

I escorted a particularly special gent, a man who kidnapped my heart and holds it hostage at an unreasonable ransom, to the state of Missouri this past weekend to attend his first cousin's wedding in St. Louis followed by some QT time with extended family members. Those that know this somewhat demure girl well know that I become timid around strangers and consume myself with violent anticipation leading up to such an event.

The weekend clock ticked by primarily on the road while we made our pilgrimage from one state to another leaving little time for much else. We split the 400+ mile drive into two days stopping in the quaint town of Eminence, Missouri on Friday night (population 53 plus one mini horse who goes by the name Robert, Bob to those that really know him) requiring us to wake up to the cock-a-doodle-doos on Saturday to make it to the church on time (thanks David Bowie) so that grannie, who was swooped up in Emienece, was present for pre-wedding pictures. This also meant wearing our Sunday best while making the 4 hour journey from Eminence to St. Louis. At 7 am Saturday morning I found myself slipping into my single strapped, kelly green satin dress feeling half pretty half foolish. A gal should never be in a situation where she is wearing a semi formal dress this early on a Saturday morning unless she passed out in it the night previous.

Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon captivated me for the seventh and a half time with the 2005 spellbinding, 153 minute smash Walk the Line amid the commute [writers sidenote: my favorite part of the film is when Joan says to John "there are too many if's in that sentence" and John retorts with bewildering wit "there's only one if in that sentence."] While I was being mesmerized by Joaquin's stunning face I was also preparing for injury as the fearless man behind the wheel flew, at three times the legal limit, up and down roads resembling the treacherous highs and lows of the Texas Giant. The fear was crippling and even though I would never let him know it, it twas a lots 'o fun.

We arrive at the church on schedule [translation: 2 hours early] prior to commencement of the ceremony. 5 hours in a satin dress in the scorching summer heat did not improve my confidence levels. To add insult to injury, I felt incredibly OVERdressed as I watched guests strapping causal attire slowly migrate to the church doors.

With 2 hours to spare my handsome date and I decide to take a gander at the fine items on display at the local Goodwill down the street from the church. His idea. I refused to make eye contact with a single soul while thumbing through the donated treasures [trash] in the second hand department store. I am pretty sure one lady, wearing dangly faux diamond earings paired with heavily washed out Levis, and her large male friend pointed and chuckled at my ridiculously too fancy for Goodwill attire. I wanted to retort, only in my mind, something that was hilarious and would make them feel bad for poking fun, alas my lack of confidence left me feeling stupid for being the object of humor in a Goodwill store. 10 minutes later, following a trip from front to back of the store in search of a restroom only to wind up in the employee break room, we find ourselves with 110 minutes to kill and standing in front of a Walgreens drugstore. My hands were screaming for sanitizer as is always the case post second hand store shopping so naturally a trip to the drugstore was not only a convenient opportunity to murder time, it was necessary.

As we make our way through the Sally Henson line of beauty products I whisper the lyrics to Boy George's Karma Chameleon which is proudly playing over the loudspeaker at surprisingly intense volume. After humming along to the line "red gold and green" I recall thinking 'hey, I am wearing a green dress'. Doggone it will you look at that!

After a good effort search for a product that tames unruly brows (it's a personal problem) I take the advice of my shopping mate and try the 'ole comb and hairspray trick. For those of you at home, do NOT try this. You might end up with what looks like a chronic case of dandruff to what now looks like tiger speckled brows. Minus ten points from the self-confidence bank.

Inspecting aisle after aisle left my feet achy and arm pits moist. It was my intent to impress, not offend, the members of my sweetheart's famile. As nerves increased so did the amount of perspiration exuding out of my pit pores. I inform my shopping companion, who was scoping out Walgreens finest spray colognes like Eternity and Coolwater, that I was preparing to endeavor down the hygeine aisle where it was my intent to burden myself with an ample spray of aerosol deodorant. There was no need to make a purchase of a brand new deodorant stick. I had a perfectly good stick of asian pear scented Secret in my suitcase. This was merely a temporary pit fix for precautionary purposes. In aisle 6 I am perplexed as I make a determintation on which deodorant best suited my current needs. For a reason unknown, I limit myself to the trial size versions of the real deal, maybe because I was about to commit the third commandment. I recall, as I pick up the modest can of aerosol spray, pondering "I hope this deodorant doesn't leave a white mark on my brand new satin-y green dress" and just as I complete that thought, while my right index finger gave an impressive push to the squirt nozzle, I felt what can only be described as a fucking mess. Without looking I knew. It wasn't a can of deodorant at all. It was shaving cream.

It, it, it'was......!!!!

Without him telling me so I have no doubt had my unfortunate Walgreens companion found one of those secret walls you push and it sends you into an adjacent hideway room he would have fled. The intensity was so strong I felt calm maybe due to a small seizure. I didn't dare look at my dress. I didn't need to. I saw the whitish blue foam resting quietly on my silver Jessica Simpson kicks. My panicked date grabbed the first thing in site, a teddy bear from one of those "$10 sale" bins and began to scrub furiously while I moan nuisances such as "why bother" or "so much for looking nice I might as well swing back by goodwill and pick up a dress I'm hideous anyway." My date does not say a word. During his moment of silence I believe he was praying for the ceiling to cave and flatten me to the ground. When Plan A fails he and I move to the Women's restroom where he paints my dress with cold water until a female, relatively masculine herself, walks in and gives me a wicked glance, turns to the "Women" sign in an obvious attempt to reiterate where we were, and barks "this is the women's bathroom , right?" She knew it was. Still in my numb state "I'm sorry" was the best I could come up with as I scurried out the door. Meanwhile, my date turns up the optimism reassuring me with positiveness "we're getting there kiddo not to worry".

I have to be honest. At this point I am trying my darndest not to laugh. When my date accidentally lets out a chuckle I can tell he immediately senses negative repercussion and goes back to scrubbing. When I feel the urge to smile I cover my mouth. I was suppose to be acting upset! All the same, I did find my current pickle ironically comedic.

While we let the dress "sit" as it dried I decide to tackle another deodorant offense - the brut scent. At this point I smell like grampa straight after an early morning shave. Like a masochist, I find myself back in the troubled aisle where something, perhaps the negative kharma gods, lures me to the scene of the deodorant incident. I find myself picking up a bottle of "Phoenix" scented Axe, trial size naturally, and began to hose my naked skin with the contamination resulting in a 30 something girl smelling half teenage boy half 70 year old man - the concoction was worse than awful. I am positively sure it was confusing for others as the vapors reaked from my body as I passed by.

With a headache on the brink and a wet dress currently comaflauging a sticky mess of shaving cream, I make the brainless decision to go out to the car and spray some of my very own expensive perfume over the Phoenix/brut mix in an attempt to hide the current overwhelming smells. My after-the-fact reasoning for this is delirium obviously from the heat and Phoenix. As luck would have it..............

the vehement Missouri heat caused the Coco de Chenal spout to eject the powerful liquid in abundance - enough for a family of 8 at least. It was one of those situations where I was uncomforable in my own skin, literally. I could not tolerate the smell of me. I smelled a disgrace. I probably violated some toxic code. I am sure if the law were involved they would have required me to wear some sort of regulated hazard sign. It is very possible I created a lethal gas not to be inhaled into human lungs.

After a few failed attempts at removing the foam from my new dress, leaving my date sweaty in his nice suit and a furious wreck, me, the soiled dress, and gaseous odors arrived at the church and made it through the wedding minus any weird looks or criticism - that's what I am telling myself anyway. Denial is delightful. My darling's family treated me with kindness and not once uttered a word about my funk, at least not to my face. My date fed me a lying fork of "I can't even smell a thing" and the like. I did, however, receive many compliments on my snazzy frock.

What began with a meek attempt to prevent fowl smelling body odor resulted in one year off of my life as the anguish over a filthy dress and three smells that should never [neva eva] be combined turned my Saturday afternoon upside down. My companion should thank me for finding an interesting way to kill 2 hours. The lesson here, chickadees, look before you squirt. Somewhere in St. Louis sits a forty-something white male reviewing surveillance video in the back of a Walgreens store laughing his ass off as he rewinds, and shares with various Walgreens employees, video footage of yours truly consciously applying a heap of shaving cream to the left side of my body.

Stay tuned for my next blog depicting more fascinating josi'sms....

~ja ja ja josie.


[Bob and I]