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The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor


The Architect


Y’all ready for this?

I thought I’d share a couple of my most embarrassing moments just to make you all feel better about yourselves. You know what? I could probably dedicate an entire blog to April’s humiliating situations. Sad, but true.

Okay, we’ll start off slow…

After a J.V. basketball game that I had been cheering for I went down to the girls locker room to find my friend Sonya who I swore went down to the locker room just seconds before. I was yelling in a very high sing-song voice, “Sonya?! Sonya!!! Where are yooooo-hooo?!” I turned into the locker area where all the benches were and there the entire visiting Varsity Basketball team was sitting staring at me. Their coach somberly said, “I don’t think Sonya is in here.”

And now for a really juicy one…

I was probably three weeks post partum from my second child. Suffice to say I was pretty chunky, I mean beefy chunks, big marbled dipped in batter and fry it up chunkeeee! So of course I wanted to go get a snow cone.

My husband and I drove to the snow cone joint and parked as close as we could, cuz it’s hard to walk too far when ya got some beefy chunks to hall. The sun had set and the only light illuminating the parking lot was the glow from the neon on the snow cone shack.

We unloaded our little ones and lumbered across the parking lot and up the wooden decking of the snow-cone shack. We stood in line behind three beautiful young girls dressed in short-shorts and tank tops. They were so young and so thin and I remember feeling so old and so fat. They got there snow cones and walked off into the night.

We stood by the shack to enjoy our sugary ice and let our daughter take heaping spoonfuls of the sweet goodness. Like any two year old she became instantaneously sticky. I had gulped my snow cone down and was feeling a bit, shall we say, uncomfortable so I volunteered to go back to the car and get some baby wipes to clean her up. This would also give me the opportunity to relieve some of the pent up “uncomfortableness” that was swirling in my intestines without any of the other customers waiting in line at the shack knowing, hearing or smelling a thing. So as I entered the darkness of the parking lot I let freedom ring. I was probably “back firing, big juicy sounding, fat old lady rip-roaring flatulence” for three or four steps before my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I turned my head to see sitting on a bench not 15 yards from my car those three beautiful teenage girls frozen in silence with their spoonfuls of snow cone lifted halfway to their mouths agape in disbelief. God have mercy!!! I opened the passenger door of our car and hid myself in the back seat shaking my head and thinking, “I have to walk back by them! God please kill me now, just let me die!!!!”

After a few minutes I gathered the strength and decided the best thing to do was pretend I didn’t know they were there. I made a bee line to my husband told him not to ask any questions, just get the car and meet me on the other side of the shack. I told him the whole story on the way home.

For the past ten years every time we go get a snow cone guess what story we tell?

“Hey honey remember the time you farted the length of a football field and scared those poor little girls half to death?” Yeah, we’re not short on exaggerations.

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