Unfortunely those words do sum up day 1 of family invasion. In fact, these exact words were uttered to me as I cuddled Mr. P before retiring to catch up on some blogs and down 2 or 13 shots of peppermint schnapps before bed.
My mom was to fly to Atlanta then take a shuttle from the airport to our town. My mom is less than good with directions and handling her shit. So when I hadn't heard from her after I knew her plane had landed, I started to worry. I worried that she decided not to get on the plane and instead partake in a jug or two of wine. Why? Why, would I think that might happen? Suffice it to say, it wouldn't be the first time. I go to the agreed upon pick up spot and low and behold she was there. Apparently something weird is going on with her cell phone. Who knows what. One of the contacts in it is "wllJ1wll". That is the best she could do trying to enter a phone number for her WORK.
But she is there, has not ditched the high school kid, and she is actually NOT wearing sweat pants that are 3 sizes too big. (Later, she proudly tells me that she was in fact wearing Gloria Vanderbilt jeans which she bought for $1 at the DAV). Before I can say one word to her she tells me, "I hurt my eye." So I ask her what happened. Her story consists of a hundred jakillion teensy tinsy brain numbing details, but I will spare you. As she will, NO DOUBT, regale my sister with the whole tale in a few days, after she tells ME the story 86 times (and don't forget, I was here for most of the action) before lunch tomorrow, she ended up accidentally using contact cleanser (which contains hydrogen peroxide) in lieu of saline solution after removing her contacts to tweeze her eyebrows. yeah, I don't know.
Her eye is all weepy, her face is swollen, and she looks like crap. At this point she thinks her contact is stuck in her eye socket behind her eyeball, so I say, let's run by the doctor and let them look. She declines. So we go home, hang out with the high school kid (whose very last day of high school was today), play a bit of Scrabble, and she is going downhill. I finally got up, and called the walk-in clinic place to check if they "do eyes". I don't know why I thought they would exclude eyes from their practice, maybe eyes are too unique, but the receptionist chick assures me, "mmm. yeah. we can do eyes."
I tell my mom we are going to the walk-in clinic and she refuses because, "those are for stabbings." At this point I am losing my mind, I am texting my sister and she offers the sound advice, "Well, then stab her. Then take her." So, I did.
In my mind. It was pretty awesome.
Oh, I digress. We get her in and I have to fill out all her forms because apparently the eye that is hurt is her "reading eye". I have to ask her for her social security number and before answering, she looks all around, scrunches down and whispers it to me. Damn it mom, who the fuck wants your identity? seriously. There are TWO people in the waiting room, and neither give a rats ass about your social. Finally we get her seen, get her meds, feed her, and now thank the sweet Mother Mary she is asleep. Day 1 is in the books. only 7 more days to go. holy hell.