Let It All Hang Out
Posted August 3, 2012on:
“Oh, I’m tired. I’m on the floor naked…with underpants on…” I speak into the cell phone as I splay across the floor. It is 3pm and no, I am not about to have sex. I make plans with my friend to meet tomorrow.
About 12 hours ago I’d gone to bed after cleaning our new rental for four hours. It isn’t enough time. We sort of trade our privilege of saying no to the tenants’ muted eggplant and green paints on the walls for leaving the place 90% clean.
About 8 hours ago a friend who is driving across the country and is supposed to show up yesterday calls and says he can stop by today. I haven’t seen T for five years. Come, I say into the phone.
About 6 hours ago my beloved asks me to call a plumber to clear the drain at the rental. I make five phone calls to coordinate his arrival with the tenants, locate the spare keys, pay for the fix, and give the code on the back of the credit card when the plumber calls again asking for it. More calls to another friend Sarina to move back our lunch date because of my cross-country friend’s visit.
These calls occur during T, his lab, and my midday walk, under a burning sun. I even wear a black maxi dress to celebrate the occasion. Twenty minutes into the excursion, sweat streams down my back. I chatter away with T, noting clumps falling out of the end of his dog as I walk behind her.
“Watch out. She poops funny.” T turns to me.
At our midpoint stop at a cafe, my molded bra sticks to my chest like suction cups. (Why it’s molded is a whole other post.) When I pull contraption’s center away from me, steam rises to my chin. Hmm. I’ve never had this experience before.
Back at my house, we take a picture in my black dress with the black lab in the front yard to document that T indeed visits Colorado. We say good-bye.
Into the car and onto the next engagement, a spirited chat with Sarina after her angels once again find us booth seating during the way-packed-during-lunch hour at Panera’s.
When I get home, it is empty. I run upstairs to my study. I pull the bra out from under my dress. I check my email and lift the dress over my head.
Whoa. I am free. The floor looks good. I think I’ll lie down. Air out. Vegge out. Hang out.
How about you? How do you hang out?