Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Cookie Got Spit-Faced

Saturday night I was ready for a fun-filled trip to Roadhouse. I really knew there wouldn’t be much fun involved, but I was ready for a nice medium-rare filet mignon. My favorite. Yum…I can still taste it. But next time, IF there IS a next time, it will be a childless, or take-out, visit.

We invited my parents to come along, and set out for Roadhouse. I did the responsible thing and called ahead for our party of 7, at least a good 30 minutes early. I expected to have to wait an additional 15 minutes or so, but that was it. I DID NOT expect the rest of the evening to turn out like it did.

We waited outside for quite a while, and I was happy that the weather at least was working in our favor, blowing a cool breeze. And then all hell broke loose. Peabody had been playing with Cookie, and suddenly said, “Mommy, Cookie made a present for you.” (Code for Cookie took a dump.) After debating my options (going to the restaurant bathroom, or to one of the cars) I decided to go to my parent’s car to change her. I took off the dirty diaper, and didn’t fold it all the way up like I usually do. I set it in the car seat while I finished getting the new diaper on. One strap, done! Second strap, not so fast! Cookie grabs the tab of the dirty diaper and jerks it hard. The diaper, crap and all, landed on her FACE. EWWWWWWW!!!!!! This being the first time I’ve seen actual crap on my daughter’s face, I was dumbstruck as to what to do. I pulled the diaper away from her face, and still couldn’t see her eyes. There was crap all over them. Not to go too much into details, but it had a bit of consistency…not too much, but just enough to let most of roll in the floorboard. I was cussing, gagging, yelling, etc. making sure the world knew I was trying my hardest to sound all white trash out in the parking lot. I brushed it out of her face, got her all situated (did I mention I didn’t have any more wipees?!?!?!) and began picking it out of the floor.

There was no console light in the middle of my dad’s car, so I had to blindly feel around for crap. Imagine how fun THAT was! It was all smashed in my fingers, bleck. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it. I finally got it all cleaned up as best as I could, and attempted to lock and shut the door with my elbow. I stomped back up to Roadhouse with a diaper in one hand, and crap-girl in the other, and DARED anyone to even LOOK my direction. I dropped the diaper in the trashcan outside, and went to the inside restroom (where I should’ve gone in the first place!!! But hindsight’s 20/20, right?) to clean Cookie up a bit more.

There were 2 sinks (and soap & paper towel dispensers) and plenty of room, but some heifer hell-bent on looking beautiful decided the light would work best in her favor if she stood directly in the middle of the area, so there was NO WAY we could get in. I tried to squeeze in to wash my hands, and then Cookie’s. I was getting some anti-bacterial foam to put on her face when I noticed there was crap in one of her antennae! At this time I REALLY needed the height of the sink area to raise her up (since I’m a pregnant hog and it’s hard for me to bend over that far) to pick it out of her hair. But would the other cow budge? Hell no. I want you to know that that stupid girl looked absolutely NO DIFFERENT when she walked out of that bathroom than when she went in 15 minutes before. But whatever. She even KNEW that I was trying to pick CRAP out of my child’s hair. But she didn’t move. Not even an inch. SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!! UGLY FACE!!!! UGLY, HORRIBLE, WORDS!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every time I tried to get another small piece out, it would smash in her hair. I eventually had to put her head first under the faucet (after the heathen left) and wash it out that way. Finally, after 20 minutes of torture, we were both clean.

I took her back outside, gave her to Peabody, and marched back in to the hostess desk to ask how much longer we had. “Oh, it looks like the table you’ll be sitting at has another family there. They just got their food, so it shouldn’t be long. Maybe another 20-25 minutes.” NOT THAT LONG? 20-25 minutes, after we’ve WAITED 35 minutes, AND I DID CALL-AHEAD SEATING?!?!?!?!?! What in the sam hill?!?!?!?! I’m glad to know that this call-ahead seating they just rave about means about as much as a stick in the mud. Bastards.

After another period of wasted time (a total of 1 hour and 15 minutes after arriving) we got our table. I’d love to say the steak made it all worthwhile, and it may have made up for it slightly…….but that was all erased by the fact that some lunatic backed into my car while we were eating. And didn’t leave as much as a thank-you note. Suckers.

2 comments:

Tracey said...

OHH that sounds awful all the way around. Much like something that would happen to me. (Ps. Found you from Clusterfook.)

Faithful Froggers said...

Okay, I will ALWAYS make sure I wrap up the diaper tight after hearing this story. :)