The Results of the Lie Detector

I'm no master of suspense, so I'm just going to go ahead and tell you that the only statement from yesterday's post which is 100% true is #2.  I did flatten my vagina against a car window by mistake.  I take comfort in the fact that this all happened before my goods had been mutilated by child birth, so it couldn't have been that horrifying for the onlookers.  

As for the others...

#1 - I was never naked in front of a salesman.  Not a real one anyway.  

#3 - The hubs has in the past lit his farts on fire, (Hello, Classy!), but never have I asked to be taught.  It remains a fact that I cannot fart on command.  And to the commenter who said that she knows otherwise, I would point out that a fart is entirely different from a queef.

#4 - I never pooped on a delivery table.  Sorry for all who were hoping.  Although, I will admit that while my episiotomy was being stitched up after kid #1, there were some fart-type noises going on, but I won't describe them, because how many times can you use the word queef in one post without sounding trashy?  My guess is one.

#5 - This one actually could be 100% true.  I know I did announce the opening "thong", but I never had the guts to ask anyone if I'd uttered that other phrase aloud.  I remember thinking afterward that it was a strong possibility, but I chose to push it out of my mind.

#6 - I was, in fact voted most likely to become a White House intern by members of the staff at my high school.  I was voted Most Mischievous by my peers, (which I never understood because I only even skipped class one time and never pulled the fire alarm). I did not, however, volunteer on anyone's political campaign.  I'm not the "get involved" type.

So there ya have it!  And because I think the rules of this little game mandate that I tag three more bloggers to tell their own truth and lies, I will choose Booyah's Momma, Chelsea's Psycho Babble, and Go, Pop, Go!.  Because I know that they will likely all make me look more normal.     

Your Lie Detector Test

Imagine my horror when I found that Poppy had tagged me in her game of lies.  How does one follow Poppy in a game of anything?  Add to that the pressure that Sherri heaped on in the comments section of Poppy's post, and you've got me completely frozen. I have no idea how to complete this task without making an ass out of myself.  Or boring you to tears. Or just plain trying too hard.  When it comes right down to it - I'm a crappy liar.

But here I go anyway.

The following are five lies and one truth.  Your job is to pick out the one that is 100% truth and leave your answer in the comments section.  Let's see who thinks they know me....

1.  Even as a newlywed I had to compete with Fishing for my husband's affections.  His Saturdays were reserved for sleeping until noon and then driving to the murky ponds not far from our tiny apartment to catch a few battered bass and toxic trout.  The alternative was staying home with me, so you can see the allure of a muddy pond, right?  Right.  Well, one afternoon, just after I'd said goodbye to the fishing addict, I noticed he had left his car keys on the kitchen table.  I decided to make one more attempt to get the hubs to stay home.  I stripped down in record time and stood in the living room stark naked waiting for him to re-enter to claim his keys, or me.  Only when he came back in, he was toting a door-to-door salesman behind him.  Selling carpet cleaner, no less.  Awkward.

2.  I once tried to moon my uncle while in a moving vehicle. I was 19 and in my dad's truck with both my parents.  In our family, mooning is a perfectly acceptable greeting if you happen to see a relative traveling the same road as you.  Unfortunately, I bent over too far and ended up pressing my vagina against the passenger window.  When I realized my error, I hurried to pull my pants back up and sit down...and wipe the mark off the window...but the damage was done.  Family reunions have never been comfortable since.

3.  Because we're really cool and stuff, my husband once tried to teach me how to light my farts on fire.  It's kinda sad that we were married and had two kids at the time, but we were really, really poor and had nothing better to do.  And it's kinda funny too, because I won't even light the barbecue grill because I'm afraid of blowing up, but let's go ahead and hold a match to some homemade methane that's coming out of my body, okay?  Alright then.  So the climax to this story is that I can't fart under pressure.  But I got to learn from the master, who is now sometimes referred to as Blue Flame.  Kinda like an Indian name.

4.  Speaking of butts and such, I know how no one can resist telling their childbirth horror stories, and I am no exception.  When my third kid was born there was no pushing involved.  The baby was small and it was actually all I could do to hold him in until the doctor showed up. But when I was given the OK to stop holding him in with everything I had, I let it all go.  And along with baby, out came the contents of my large intestine and the loudest fart I have heard to this day. It was one of those that starts out like a whoopie cushion and ends up sounding like someone left the window open during a storm. Just a big breeze passing through. I think the doc was impressed. And glad he had one of those mask things on.

5.  Several years ago I was in charge of leading the opening exercises for Primary at church, which is the meeting group for kids aged 3-12.  I stood in front of the group of kids and their teachers and announced the title of our opening thong.  Yes, I said thong.  Little trip of the tongue.  I meant to say "opening song".  The adults chuckled, the kids were oblivious, and we moved on.  But apparently I was on a roll.  The kids were especially noisy while I was finishing my announcements, so I blurted out, "My hell, you guys are loud today."  It just sorta slipped out.  I wasn't entirely sure that I had actually said it out loud until I looked up and saw the wide eyes and the very shut mouths and the still bodies of 65 or so children.  What could I do?  I made the best of it and finished my announcements to a silent room. 

6. In high school I was voted "Most likely to become a white house intern".  You know who voted on these things?  Just the teachers.  That's the kind of backwards school I went to.  Shockingly, they gave me that award instead of "Most likely to fart during graduation".  That one fittingly went to the most demure girl I've ever met.  Anyhow, after graduation I tried to find a job for two months until I finally gave up and decided to volunteer to help out the Linda Smith campaign.  She was running for senator and lost.  But it wasn't because I did a crappy job filing pointless documents, that's for sure.  Now I can go to my twenty year reunion and say that the teachers' predictions were correct...sort of.  

So there ya go. Which do you think is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Like Christmas, except in January and just for me.

I have no shame. We've all seen it before, and the following will be another example.

I wish to tell you of my three purchases tonight. They are three things that I have been waiting to buy for longer than any normal person would wait.

A bra.

A baby gate.

A vacuum.

I think they all warrant their own story.

Once upon a time, like back in 2000, I had a respectable amount of breast tissue. Nothing to brag about, but enough that no one questioned my gender. Then I had Cameron and lost a little. Then I had Ethan and lost a little more. Then I had Drew and lost the little bit that I had left. Then I had Trent and became concave.

Padded bras have been my curse for going on nine years now, and not just a little padding. There's enough there to unroll and sleep on when I go camping. And under wire is an absolute must - without it, there's no point.

And speaking of no point, I decided several weeks ago that there was no reason for me to strap on an ill-fitting, sweat producing padded bra, when I could just go without. My chest looks like that of a pre-pubescent girl, so why bother?

I know that a lot of you are thinking at this point that I just need to go get a professional bra fitting. You're wrong. I measured myself, and the measurement of my bust at the fullest point is actually only a little less than an inch bigger than my measurement just below the bust. I am officially a double A. 34AA. (I apologize to all the men who are reading this and cringing at my "overshare".) But I just don't care anymore. There are worse things than being flat-chested.

So I've known for a while now that I really need to find myself a training bra. (You know - for the cold days.) Because no one actually makes AA bras.

Tonight I was at Target, crossing from one end of the store to the other, and I happened to wind my way through the little girl's department. I walked straight into the bra section, saw a ridiculously multi-colored thing that looked like it belonged on a Miley Cyrus fan, and what do you know - it was on clearance for a buck seventy-five. I grabbed the thing and headed for the front of the store with my head held high. It is a lucky girl who gets to buy her non-padded, (finally!), under wire bra for less than two dollars. Take that you voluptuous vixens!

Cameron and Ethan happened to be with me, and were not quite as thrilled as I was. They asked me who it was for, as though they knew that such a silly thing could not be for a grown woman, and I told them it was for them. They both flushed red and sweat bullets all the way to the car.

So there you have it, I am a nearly thirty-year-old woman in a training bra. At least I won't have to worry about being saggy.


So, the baby gate. I have safety locks on all of my cabinet doors, except for two. Those are the two that Drew broke about a year ago when he learned that if he just yanked hard enough over and over, the lock would eventually snap and the cabinet door would open. He got away with that twice, and then he got what was coming to him and never did it again.

Enter Trent and Bryan.

Trent and Bryan have two things, and only two things, that they like to do during the day. The first is to follow me around and cry/whine/unfold the clothes I just folded. The second is to empty all the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. There are child-proof latches on them, again, except for the two that Drew got to, but their arms are just flexible enough to reach into the little space provided before the lock kicks in, and pull out anything that their chubby hands can grab at that weird angle. I have spent a lot of time re-washing measuring cups and bottle nipples and cooking utensils that were clean before they were sucked on by drooling toddlers. And then there is the cereal cabinet. Lots and lots of cereal scattered on the floor. And finally, today, the container of cookies dumped and tediously sampled, one by one.

I'd had my fill after the loss of all those chocolate chip cookies. So tonight, I bought a baby gate and giggled and grinned while I installed it. Then Andrew and I took turns impersonating the reactions we are expecting from Drew, Trent, and Bryan in the morning when they find that they can no longer watch me splutter and turn purple in the face after they finish dismantling the order of the kitchen. I can't wait. I'm going to stand in the kitchen, stick out my tongue and give them the world's most grown-up "nee-ner, nee-ner, neeeee-ner!"

Lastly, this might shock you all, but our vacuum broke over three months ago, and I just replaced it tonight. When it broke, I thought, ah, well....I'll get a new one next time we have an extra fifty bucks. And in the mean time, we can play Redneck and use the shop-vac.

So I've been crawling around on my hands and knees for three months now, vacuuming the rug in the living room with the stupid little hose of the shop-vac, and completely ignoring the bedrooms because the three-pronged plug of the shop-vac didn't fit in the two-pronged outlet of the bedrooms. Sure, we have an extension cord, but that seemed like too much work to then have to crawl around with the hose and pretend that I was making a difference in the cleanliness of the carpet.

In case anyone didn't know, a vacuum hose does not do much for carpet. You really need that spinning brush to lift the fibers and comb out all the junk that 5 kids and one husband can make. (I counted Drew twice, because he's just that messy.) Also, our shop-vac is rather noisy. The first time I plugged it in to give the living room a crawl-over, all the residents of the cemetery down the street came knocking at my door to ask what the horrible noise was.

Every time an extra fifty dollars became available, (which I think happened just twice in those three months), it sounded like a lot more fun to go out to dinner or to a movie instead of buying a vacuum. So once we ate at Wingers - no regrets - and the other time... I don't remember what we did. But it was surely more exciting than a vacuum. This is called being poor and making choices.

Tonight, I buckled down and spent the stupid fifty dollars for a vacuum that will get the job done. My carpet is no longer matted, but back to being slightly shag-ish and soft. It was like all the strands stood up and said, "Well, hello again! It's nice to see you! Won't you please walk on us?" And I can't see anymore flecks of crushed Goldfish crackers scattered about the floor.

So excited was I by the clean living room floor, that at 11 PM I took the vacuum back to my bedroom, where two nights ago Drew ate microwave popcorn. The remnants of that popcorn are actually what put me over the edge and made me go get the vacuum. So I started vacuuming away, humming a happy tune, ducking under Andrew's video game controller cord as I tried not to get in the way of his game, and ran over the vacuum's cord. The stinking overzealous vacuum sucked up it's own cord and the motor instantly smelled like the aftermath of an atom bomb.

I have never, in all my years of vacuuming, seen a machine suck up it's own cord. All my previous models have been smart enough to know to stick to food particles and hair, and to leave the cord alone, should I happen to run over it.

Enough of the plastic coating was chewed off the cord that I now have to patch my new toy with electrical tape.

Or, I could use the cord to zap the first kid who decides to climb over the baby gate.