stereotypical single woman

Today I flashed a police officer.

Yes, you read that correctly, I, the quiet, unassuming, glasses-wearing, cat-owning, stereotypical single woman, gave a full frontal of the girls to a city police officer. I am that classy.

And I wasn’t even drunk at the time (but I am now.)

I’ve had a long weekend. Saturday was spent moving the big stuff out of the house I was living in and into my parent’s until I get an apt in Detroit. And once that was done I was confronted with the horror that everyone faces when they move - that I just have SO MUCH SHIT and I have no fucking clue where it all came from. Or what I’m supposed to do with it. And just the idea that I have to sort through it all and move it by next Saturday stresses me out to the point that it paralyzes me. And I just can’t stop thinking about it. So needless to say I didn’t wake up this morning at 5:45 am in the best frame of mind.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that I had to be up and out the door by 6 a.m. on a Sunday to take my parents to the airport? My dad gave my mom a trip to Atlantic City for Mother’s day, and typically I’m fine with getting up that early and more than happy to help my family out. But I didn’t get to bed until past midnight last night. I was sore. I was stressed. I was upset. I was also pmsing. I woke up in more than a slightly bitchy mood.

So I got them to the airport (they practically sprinted out of the car before it stopped moving) and returned home, where, in my oh-so-rational frame of mind I became absolutely furious about the smell of dog ass in the house. Things were thrown. I may have even growled at a couple of the dogs. My parents live with 6 poodles, so the smell of dog is pretty much inevitable. They try to keep it under control, but occasionally life gets busy, and the carpet doesn’t get steam cleaned as often as it should, and the smell gets very pronounced. Some of them can live with it, it makes me nauseas to the point of gagging. And lately we’ve noticed that one of them has gotten lazy and doesn’t feel that they should have to go outside to relieve themselves at night, but we can never catch them. We know that it’s not a health issue, it’s a behavioral problem, but we don’t know who it is. All we can do is spot clean as soon as we see something. But the smell gets pretty bad. And this morning it pissed me off.

I did an initial carpet cleaning in the morning - I knew I’d have to do it at least twice. So I get the first pass done and go back over to my old house and start trying to organize what’s left. Please note the word try. I spent four very hot hours over there before I was on the verge of tears (again, stressed and pmsing here folks) fully convinced that I will never ever be finished moving. I will never get out of that neighborhood. I’m going to die and rot there, the poor, unloved, crazy cat lady. And no one will know until the smell from the house gets so bad that the neighbors call the cops. And the cops will have to break down the door and find my corpse there, buried under a pile of useless crap. Did I mention I’m premenstrual?

So by 5 I’m tired. I’m sweaty. I smell. And I start the second round of steam cleaning the living room carpet. I hear the phone ring but I let the machine get it. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone. The dogs are whining because I have gates up to keep them out of the living room. The cats are wailing because I have the door to the upstairs shut. The birds are screaming because that’s just what they do. I’m trying to figure out a way to electrify the carpet just enough so that when a dog pees on it the current travels up the stream of urine and shocks them right where it would hurt the most. It’s safe to say I’ve had better moments.

Around 7 I’m finishing up the carpet when I get that final superhuman burst of adrenaline you get when you are simultaneously stressed out and pissed off. I pull off the waste tank just a little too hard and splash some of the putrid water down the front of me. It gets all over my shirt and bra so I take them off. It’s been a hot day, and to be honest with you it feels really good to be half naked and I saw no need to put anything on immediately. I even consider stripping completely but figured I’d finish cleaning first. And just like in any sitcom, as I’m finishing picking stuff up when the doorbell rings.

Now, there’s a window right off my parent’s kitchen that looks out over the front door. It’s very convenient, you can always see who’s at the door before you open it. But when the window is open to help air circulate and dry the carpets whoever is standing at the front door can also see right into the house. And see my breasts if I’m half naked. Just like the officer who was standing there did.

Apparently there was a problem with the police radios, and as my father is the head Radio Technician for the city, they had been trying to get ahold of him to fix it. And since they had left a message two hours earlier and he hadn’t called them back they sent an officer to his house. And that officer got a show.

I’d like to say that I’m embarrassed, but right now I find the whole situation extremely amusing. Especially because after the officer got my dad’s cell phone number and left (thankfully he pretended like he hadn’t seen a thing) I had a couple shots of tequila. And a beer. Right now it’s just really fucking funny.