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.

TEN THIRTY!!

OMG!!  

TEN THIRTY AND I HAVE TO BE AT AN APPOINTMENT A HALF HOUR AWAY AT ELEVEN!!!!

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.

Hahahahahahahahaha!

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.

Literally.

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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