Monday, October 23, 2006

And The Mome Raths Outgrabe

Reason #1,067 why my life is weirder than other people's:

The gym on Friday evening. I am riding an endorphin buzz from a very vigorous NIA class and a subsequent hot, steamy shower. The scene finds me zoning out in front of the mirror, dotting on concealer in a meditative manner. I can sense someone to my right but we are ignoring each other--I think--in the tactful way one does in locker rooms.

"I did something really interesting today." At first I'm not even sure she's talking to me, but then I realize she has turned to face me and is only a couple feet away. I reluctantly drag my gaze from my pinkish visage and apply it to her face, as politeness seems to demand. I don't wait long for the pay-off:

"I ate half an avocado..."

There is probably less than a second that transpires between this phrase and the one that follows, but that is more time than it takes me to ascertain that I've made a terrible error in interrupting my ablutions. I am actually slightly stunned, as if I've been gently slapped, by the raw beauty of this non-sequitur. But the rest of the sentence is shortly forthcoming:

"..and the other half I put on my face. Then I coated that with buttermilk, and I put some olive oil on, too."

Now my attention is divided into two nearly equal halves: the half that wonders if she is, genuinely, crazy (but do crazy people work out at the gym?) and the other half that is plunged into a wave of nostalgia for the days when I used to wash my hair in mayonnaise because Seventeen magazine said it was a good idea. It wasn't.

Now she is saying something about "incredible softness" and seems to have shifted her focus to her decolletage, but there's a roaring in my ears and I can barely hear her. Then, a single directive pierces the fog:

"Feel!" She thrusts her shiny-looking, shelf-like bosom, clad in some sort of scoop-neck leotard, directly into my air space. Readers, it's moments like these that I am convinced that I am part of some kind of cosmic test: how much embarrassment can I experience in any five second window and not implode?

And I ask...what would you do? Seriously, what would you do? I make the only choice I feel is available: I poke her swiftly in the chestal region with my index finger. "Wow! Soft!"

"It's because it has alpha-hydroxy acids."

"Mmm!" I am reduced to Jarrah-speak.


Yiftach said...

Well, Sam, we've been trying to keep this from you as long as possible, but it seems you've figured it out yourself: you're actually on a hidden camera program being watched by millions the world over. All the people in your life are actors, and everything other than your dialogue is scripted.

Sam, you're the star of The TruMom Show.

That woman's boobage is the spotlight that fell on the street in front of you.

And this, no lie, is the canned comment Blogger put in the comment box for me to work off of:
"Those look fabulous! How much for my own set?"

Anonymous said...

Wow, and to think I only cut my avocado last and put it in a salad. Now I know better!

Anonymous said...

Opps, that was me by the way. Blogger still won't let me log to your account!



Cheri @ Blog This Mom!® said...

Oh my goodness. I should not read your blog so early in the morning. Coffee shooting out of the nose hurts. LOL!

Anonymous said...

My first thought, & possible retort was:
"Surely you jest?"

But in actuality, I would have done what you did, too stunned to act otherwise. It now occurs to me that perhaps it's not the meek, but the dumb who will inherit the earth.

Best, Gail

Sam said...

Ooooh, I'm loving it. The TruMom Show! Can I steal that? :)

And Gail, I adore that response, though there's always the chance she might have come back with "Not at all. And don't call my Shirley!" ;)

Alleen said...

Oh no she didn't!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!