Not your average suburban mom. I’m more your typical, normal, commonplace, everyday, garden-variety suburban mom. With a thesaurus.

Monday, August 20, 2012

It was like perfume. Stir-fry perfume.

Scene:  I am calling my mom-in-law.

MIL:  Hello?
Kelly:  Hey!  How would you like to contribute to the wellness of a marriage by babysitting for a young couple so they could go on a date?
MIL:  I would love to. (She might have also said something to the effect of, "How long have you been working on that line?" to which I replied, "This magic flows freely without thought or plan.")

That is how Brian and I ended up on a real date this weekend.  Because we are completely "out of the box" people, we went with dinner and a movie.

Our date began with seeing the newest Bourne movie.  We got there just in time, so we fully enjoyed about 30,000 previews (I am so going to see Chasing Mavericks, but not with Brian, who looked at me with complete disdain and implied I may have poor taste in cinema when I voiced my enthusiasm over the movie trailer.)

I sat next to a five year old who dumped his popcorn into my purse three times.  (If you didn't catch all that was unsaid in that last sentence, let me rephrase:  Someone brought a FIVE YEAR OLD CHILD to see the Bourne movie and at the end he commented it wasn't as good as the others.) Aside from the popcorn mishaps (which I am willing to blame on literal butterfingers) he was polite and said, "Excuse me"  every time he burped out loud.  I did my part to not get in a fist fight with his parents remain socially acceptable by refraining from ordering him, "Cover your eyes!" or "Plug your ears!" during certain scenes.

The movie was okay.  It didn't change my life like Pump Up the Volume, which fanned into flame the true idealist revolutionary I have become today.  Bourne movies make me feel:

1.  Confused.  I'm never really sure what is going on, but I am convinced that being genetically altered to be more like a Navy Seal would be the epitome of rad.

2.  Incompetent.  Should I know how to make fake passports?  Or ride a motorcycle down a staircase while shooting a huge gun?  At the very least I should learn to speak German.  Or French. Or, since I live in America, Spanish English.

After the movie I dashed to the bathroom, weaving in and out of other theater-goers because I was reenacting the motorcycle chase scene really had to go.  The theater had toilets that flush themselves so enthusiastically I thought, "TIDAL WAVE!" as the water came dangerously close to escaping the bowl.  I might even have jumped back in surprise, fully body slamming the stall door and sending a ripple effect down the other fifteen stalls to which it was connected.  At this point I was tempted to feel embarrassed, but instead I thought, "It's like I started The Wave in the bathroom by myself," which, admittedly, is unexpected and awesome.

We went to dinner and I devoured some BBQ Chicken Quesadillas while Brian enjoyed chicken and artichoke pasta.  Our waiter was kind enough to weigh in on a debate we were having about if Miami was a family-friendly vacation destination.  His two cents were, "Miami has a lot of Cubans."  So it's totally settled, we are going there so my kids can finally have an authentic Cuban Mojito Medianoche.

We concluded our crazy date night with a trip to Meijer so I could buy some hydrogen peroxide. This is where the night took a turn.

Kelly, why did you need hydrogen peroxide so badly that you allowed the need to crash your romantic date night?  THIS:
This Pinterest Pin connects to this website.  This is where I got the recipe for the detox bath
I haven't mentioned my head cold I'm miserably suffering with, mainly because as I read through different posts it feels like I'm always complaining about being sick.  But this information is pertinent to the rest of the story, so stop judging me.  Pinterest informed me of a wonderful detox bath that would be the cure-all for my head cold.  All I needed was to add three pints of hydrogen peroxide and two ounces of ground ginger to a hot bath, soak for thirty minutes, and I would be cured.  I planned on doing this detox bath when we got home, but my end-of-the-world supply of peroxide had dwindled down to the normal amount of one 16 oz bottle that we've owned for a year or two, so I actually needed to purchase three pints of the stuff.

Meijer had peroxide on sale this week, which meant there were only six bottles left.  After some frantic calculating, and a thankful shout out to God that I taught second grade math this year and therefore knew how many ounces were in a pint (ok, full disclosure, I totally panicked and did the math wrong and bought twice the amount needed) I got the peroxide and headed over to the other side of the store for ground ginger.  We may have gotten sidetracked by 1. 30 percent off work boots for Brian.  2. 20 percent off cargo pants for Brian.  3. A documentary called My Run for me  4.  A Meijer employee lamenting to a coworker that someone POOPED in the lamp aisle.  Of course we giggled like teenage boys had to look. Finally we got the ginger and went home.  (The ground ginger. We didn't kidnap a redhead or anything.)

My detox bath looked like swamp water.  I was a bit concerned about immersing my lady bits in such a mess, but the desire to breathe using my nose was greater than any fear I had about contracting Weird Detox Bath Disease, so I got in.

I felt the peroxide right away.  It bubbled up and around my whole body while I thought, "Please don't let this end horribly." I am a bit skeptical about holistic/natural/not approved by the FDA/not tested on things other than me methods of healing, which I attribute entirely to the Great Supplement Debacle.  I waited in this bath, letting the steam from the hot water open my sinuses and this is when I realized my bath smelled like stir-fry.

So yeah, date night ended on a pungent note; me, with my fragrant Asian cookery soaked skin and rockin' "mouth-breather all day due to stuffy nose" breath, and Brian with his "Sorry, Kel, the pasta is worse than Corona and shrimp" (a combination of food I have henceforth banned from his body due to the assault the manner in which it exit's his body launches on my olfactories.)  We were like our own special brand of perfume. Which you can apparently buy at Walgreens:


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