Chapter Sixty Eight; ROTFLMAO

“I have the alcoholism under control but keep me away from that blackjack table!”

Is it just me or lately does everyone I know have their smart ass hat on? I think so and I have been giggling for days because of it. So here’s a little essay dedicated to the people around me who just, well, took my funny bone and tickled the hell out of it this week.

The quote I opened with belongs in a story about a friend of a friend, a honey of a cutie pie, just a sweetheart: Betsy. So little blonde Betsy, sweet little Betsy, decides to try out speed dating.

(I know. In Fargo? Who did she think was going to show up? George Clooney’s long lost twin? Oh, Betsy, Betsy, Betsy . . . )

Shockarama. When she arrived and got a glimpse of the line up, she tried to leave (well, run out the door screaming is probably more appropriate) but the event organizer wouldn’t let her go (escape.) So instead, what did Betsy do? Well, considering she only had five minutes with each “date” and she really did not want to have to deal with any potential interest from this crusty crop, she decided to make up her own rules in order to accelerate through this experience as fast as possible. (It is called “speed” dating after all. . . )

And yes. Her giving the impression she possessed both chemical and behavioral addictions was part of her strategy.

True story.

She really said that.

She did! I am not making this up. You don’t believe me? Hello. Hence the adjective “true” before the noun “story” in the prior sentence fragment.

In addition, she also found herself deadpanning, “Oh and I have a teenager. And there is that drug dabbling thing, but, well, kids will be kids.”

Let’s just say Betsy got out of the speed dating night in record time.

And yes, when I heard this story I almost peed my pants I laughed so hard.

The second story that had me rolling around in hysterics was when one of the Divorce Land girls nonchalantly shared her reasons for being anti “toy.” (If you know what I mean . . . )

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean really, Pavlov’s dog. Hello? There’s a lot going on down there with some of those things. Bells and whistles and buttons and shit I am not sure is even legal. Is it really a good idea to condition myself to need that?”

I am nodding in agreement, seems logical, when she adds, “I mean really, I never want to be in the situation where I have to look a guy in the eye and say can you possibly make your wang just spin around?”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly and looks at me for affirmation in what is the briefest pause ever because in one nanosecond I am laughing so hard I do think a little pee came out that time.

(Oh stop gagging, everyone pees. If you don’t that’s called kidney failure and that is not a good thing.)

Oh, speaking of pee, the final thing that just made me chuckle this week was when I informed my friend, Kris, that I had to find my dog a new loving home because after three years of him using my formal living room as his own private sewage treatment plant it was time for him to go piddle in someone else's house.

“You mean you gave away honey muffin marshmallow pants? How could you?”

“Ha!” I snort, “Okay, first of all, he went to a great family and secondly, that is not even his name you doorknob. His name is Teddy,” I correct him, “middle name Marshmallow, but that’s only because a three year old had a part in the naming when he was a puppy.”

Men and their memories, I tell ya.

Honey muffin?

Had to share.

So that was my week.

I learned to never try speed dating unless I am prepared to leave a handful of men with the impression that my teenager and I plan to spend some serious time at the Betty Ford Center, that “toys” should only be used sparingly unless you want to spend the rest of your life feeling unsatisfied by the real deal, and that if I ever get a dog again I am so letting Kris name it.

I can see it now . . .

“Come here Honey Muffin Marshmallow Pants! Good boy! Good dog. Oh wait, that's a bone alright but not yours. Where did you get that? Put that back in Mommy’s nightstand! If my speed dating session tomorrow night doesn’t pan out I am going to need a little spinning excitement later. . .”