Where “Together” Means Totally Out of Control

I've been getting a flood of emails from readers around the world lately.

I love it, I really do.

It's nice to know people are reading what I write, and even better to hear from them.  Seriously, if you've ever thought about writing me – please do.  It makes my day to hear from you. 

The other night, right before I fell asleep, I read a couple long emails from readers.  One commented on how "together" my life is in spite of my disability and chronic severe pain.

As much as I appreciate the thought, I kind of rolled my eyes when I read it because I am so not "together"!

I am, in fact, one of the least "together" people you could ever meet.

(You can put me into the "very chaotic life" category instead.)

Anyway, after reading the emails, I went to sleep.  I debated setting my alarm for the next morning but I decided not to.  I always wake up early.  Also, even if I do manage to sleep a few minutes later than normal, my retrievers wake me up because they get hungry.

There's absolutely no chance of me sleeping in late, in other words.

The next morning I partially opened one sleepy eye and saw my clock staring back at me.

It read 10:30.




I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, threw on my ugliest pair of yoga pants and an old black t-shirt and flew downstairs.  As I was doing this, I made a mental note:  "New pain meds make me sleep like a rock for hours on end!"

I fed my dogs, who were happily snoozing - instead of acting as my alarm clock as they usually do.

I had no make-up on, of course.  (You don't still think I have my life "together," do you?)  I ran my fingers through my hair, to replace brushing it, as I grabbed my keys and drove a half hour to my waxing salon.

Yes, that's right –

My eleven o'clock appointment was at my waxing salon.

"How are you?" they asked gleefully, as I ran in the door.

"I just woke up and I'm about to get my pubes yanked out, how do you think I am?" I asked in return.


They all laughed.

Even other customers, in the waiting area, laughed.

The women who work at my waxing salon think I'm so funny.

(I was not joking.)

A few minutes later I was doing the naked frog for a way-too-cheery woman.

I hadn't even had a morning cup of coffee yet.

(As it turns out, having hot wax poured there right after you get out of bed will wake you up way faster than coffee will.)

I hadn't applied mascara, showered, or brushed my hair yet for the day.  I have blonde eyelashes so mascara is a must – you can't even tell I have eyes without it.

I was looking, and feeling, my ugliest.

A short while later, my appointment was over.

I walked out of the salon and ran smack into the hottest fireman who has ever existed anywhere in the universe.

And by "ran into him," I mean I ran into him.

(Yes, I'm really that together!)

Why are firemen always so good looking?

There's some hidden law, somewhere, that states:  You are not allowed to be a fireman unless you're exceedingly hot and make women swoon on sight.

He laughed at me.

I gaped at him.


I couldn't even talk at first, I was so stunned at how good looking he was.

(He was probably just as stunned at how unattractive I was.)

Then he glanced up and saw I had just walked out the door of the waxing salon.

He instantly had a full-on grin on his face.

I blushed profusely, which is ridiculous because for all he knew I had just gotten my eyebrows waxed, right?

Except, if I had gotten my eyebrows waxed I probably wound not be blushing profusely?

Finally, I stammered out an apology for running into him, all the while wondering if I could ask him for permission to take his photo.  

(Yes, that really is how my brain works.)

Surely he wouldn't mind having his photo on the Internet with a caption reading, "Hottest fireman ever!" or, "Fireman I met when I had a freshly groomed twat and no make-up on." 

Before I could act on the thought, I heard someone call out to Hot Fireman.  It was one of his friends on … get this … a fire engine.

Hot Fireman turned, and quickly joined up with his friends.

The lights and sirens went on even before he climbed up on the engine ….

I watched as the truck pulled out of the parking lot and raced away. 

And just like that,

Hot Fireman was out of my life.

Sigh ….

© Twenty Four At Heart

11 Responses to “Where “Together” Means Totally Out of Control”

  1. Jen

    Maybe it is a California law, because it sure isn’t nationwide…though I admit the uniform helps a great deal 🙂

  2. Pamela Brookins

    You made my night! I’ve had a pretty boring day.Now, I’ll be smiling for hours. Not about your chaos, but about your humor. Have a wonderful weekend!

  3. Kelsey

    Okay, you can try to convince me your life is not together but I still don’t think I am buying it…either way, your life DOES always sound like a movie! Your life would make a better film than Briget Jones.

  4. Emsxiety

    We have fire drills at work and there’s one firefighter we all get giddy over. By all I mean staff and residents ranging in age from 19 to 99!

  5. Kristen G

    I still don’t understand how you can do the waxing every month. The one brazilian I had last month was enough for me, thankyouverymuch!

  6. Amy in StL

    I’ve never been waxed – I always just shave – but I’m pretty sure what “the naked frog” pose is and it cracked me up to read that.
    Also, my boyfriend is a fireman and from what I’ve seen of his co-workers they aren’t all hot, but the uniforms do help.
    In fact, he came by Saturday morning to apologize for being a butthead on Thursday and he came directly from the firehouse with a quick stop at the grocery store to get flowers. He was wet and smelled a bit like fire and he not only apologized for what he did Thursday, he apologized for being wet and stinky. Is it weird that I found that kind of added to the allure of a fireman on my doorstep with a kiss and flowers for me?


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