Tuesday, January 05, 2010

One Bad Hombre

Himself and I went to stand in the milk line.

It was 45 degrees outside. I don't want to hear from anyone NOT in Florida how that's not cold. I'm here. You're not.

Needless to say, we were wearing layers. I had on a teal beanie, white cable scarf, and striped mittens with my black jacket. Himself was wearing a his dark jacket, jeans, and an Ezekiel's Eye beanie/skull cap.

We huddled together and tried to stay warm. It was going to be a long wait.

I turned to speak to Himself and then stopped. After perusing his outfit, I stated, You know, the only thing keeping you from looking like a real Bad A are your glasses.

He quickly whipped off his glasses and stuck them in his pocket. Full effect.

More waiting.

From the woman in line in front of us to one of the milk men, I heard you complaining about an ailment. I'm a massage therapist and I study blah blah and I can tell right away that your face is not even.

Himself leans forward. I'd say something, but I don't want to frighten her while I'm looking like a Bad A.

You would. You'd totally scare her granola-eatin' heart.


More waiting.

Behind us, the line grows longer. The weather feels like it's dropping a few degrees to everything except my toes, which I can no longer feel. I turn once again to Himself and notice his exposed neck. I promptly place my frozen nose there.

Hey! That's a cold nose!

Mmmmphmfpmmfp.

You know, I'm getting my pistola tomorrow,
he whispers, for the third time.

I know. I'll feel so much safer in this milk line just knowing you're packing some heat.

The boxer dog who has been there every week is making her rounds up and down the line, trying to see who will kick her very slobbery, very deflated soccer ball. We all take turns trying to psyche her out on the direction of our kicks, but she's a pretty good blocker. She can read any direction we choose.

The yuppie (do they still call them that?) husband in front of me points to the residue of slobber left on his shoe after kicking the ball. I look at my own shoes and see she's left her DNA there as well. Oh well. Mine aren't spotlessly clean to go with my leather jacket, leather gloves, and striped skull cap, like his are.

After contemplating all of this, I turn one last time to Himself.

Are my glasses the only thing keeping me from looking like a Bad A?

No. Your danglely turquoise earrings are.


Thanks, Dad. Really. I love them.

Finally, it's our turn to pay the piper and grab the white gold. We pass many characters on our way back to the car and I laugh to myself because I certainly look like one of them today. We load up the Escape and quickly jump in, cranking the heat full blast.

Nose running from the cold, Himself requests a napkin from the glove box.

A napkin? A real Bad A would just hawk it onto the sidewalk.

I wondered if they could hear his laughter as we drove away.

4 comments:

agable said...

You guys are too funny. I love how you say "Bad A" :) I thought Ben was the only one that said that :)
And I agree, it's terribly cold in Florida. I feel like if it's going to be this cold, we need some pretty mountains to look at to compensate.

Jessica Leigh said...

I wish he had been wearing that get-up when we were playing blackjack.

Raquel said...

Oh no, 45 IS cold. It's just colder here. I'd take 45. BRRR!

Shannon said...

Hahahaha! Love it! You hard-core, milk trafficking, glasses wearing love birds! So glad you're my friends! =)

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