So, Sunday was kind of a long day. Race for the cure…getting up at 4:30…boo hoo hoo.
I don’t like saying I’m lazy, but I don’t like paying taxes either. Truth hurts.
I did nothing Sunday. But nap. Twice.
After taking in all that beauty rest and then going to bed fairly early, it wasn’t too much of a shock to hear that mind-blowing “BEEP…BEEP…BEEP” of the alarm.
At 3:32 a.m. though?
Oh, it was an alarm all right.
THE SMOKE ALARM.
After about 1.8 seconds when I realized it wasn’t my alarm clock beeping, I sat bolt up in bed.
I crapped. Not literally, but could have.
I’m writing this as a confession. Kinda.
You see, when you’re caught off guard in what could possibly be an emergency, you get to see the real you. Your real thoughts. Your real emotions.
It’s a bad feeling to hear a smoke alarm screaming in the deathly quiet morning. 3:32 a.m. to be exact. It’s earlier than that 4:30 a.m. crap. Actually, it was just under 24 hours from when I got up for the race.
Uh, huh. See?
Here’s where my confession comes in.
I’m sure you’ve all been asked or thought, “What’s the first thing you’d do or grab in the event of a fire?”
I’ve thought of that. Here’s the things that always came to my mind:
1. My bible (Shut up. Yes, I go to church. Maybe not every Sunday, but I go. And God knows I curse a little. He loves me just like I am. He laughs at me, too. So, shut up.)
2. My Abbie (She’s my yellow Labrador Retriever who passed 2-1/2 years ago. I live in an apartment and well, had to have her cremated. Never thought I’d do that…but it’s kinda comforting. Don’t judge.)
3. Some clothes/shoes
4. Maybe if I have time…my makeup.
Well, here’s what I’d REALLY do. I know, because it’s exactly what I did at 3:32 a.m. when that damn alarm went off.
I jumped out of bed, screamed, “Damn!” cause my left calf was on fire. Not from a fire in my place, but from the race. I didn’t stretch. Loser.
I ran to the kitchen where the smoke alarm was going off and I looked up at it.
It was quiet now. Not one freaking BEEP to be heard.
But still. I’m nervous.
I throw my nose up in the air like some kind of death row prison dog. This is serious stuff.
Nothing. But still…I’m nervous. You know, it could have been some stupid neighbor who left a candle burning, or a cigarette or something. Just anything!
It hits me that I better go on through that mental list and get my crap together. There might be hot firemen here ANY MINUTE! That smoke alarm smelt something, so get prepared.
So, I fly into the bathroom and I….I….I check my hair. Bad bedhead, so I start ruffling it up and doing my best in the quickest manner possible to fluff out the bedhead.
Next, I grab my tube of lip gloss and stick it down in my top. (I was sleeping in a tube top gown that’s all elasticky at the top, so there was some “grab” up there.)
Then I stuck my phone down in there, too. My boobage area in that elasticky-top gown is like a damn FedEx truck. Holds all kinds of stuff.
Now, where’s my f’ing hoop earrings?!? I find them and slip them in.
Then I grabbed my bible and Abbie’s urn.
And I put my sunglasses on my head. Why? I don’t know! I don’t know why I do most shit I do. I guess to somehow masquerade the bad bedhead?
Who freaking knows.
(I give up on me, too. You’re not alone here.)
I grab no clothes. No special little mementos. No shoes. No pictures of family. Not even my purse.
In a state of:
(A) not knowing if I was going to live or die,
(B) not knowing if I was going to be able to ever wear those sweet animal print heels I do so love, and
(3) not knowing if I’d ever see my car again…THIS is what I grab?
I’ve said it before. I have no shame.
(I probably need to find some though.)
(Cause this shit is sad.)
(I mean, really. Lip gloss?)
The only thing that (honestly) went through my mind was, “What if there’s hot firemen out there and a news crew? I can’t be all up interviewing looking like hell.”
I did NOT want to have to defriend any fools on Facebook because they saw me with bedheaded up hair, or no lip gloss or better yet, because they posted the damn news clip!
Cause we all know, when a reporter is at the scene of anything, they’re gonna stick that mic in the face of the most toothless, hair-up-in-rollers-and-shower-cap-over-those-rollers hag they can find there.
That was NOT gonna be me. No way, no how.
I might embarrass my family, my friends, my co-workers. But embarrass myself?
Uh, hell to the NO.
So, that’s the real me. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed anyone.
(Not really, it just sounds nice.)
(Plus, earlier I said I go to church and should occasionally do my best to sound churchy.)
(Plus plus, we all know I’m way past the age of giving a rats ass what anyone else thinks.)
About 3.8 minutes had passed. And still nothing. No more beeps. No more nothing.
So, I assumed the coast was clear and I could go back to bed. Which I did.
With my lip gloss still in my elasticky-top. Just in case.
Now go back through your little mental list of crap you’d grab and re-think it. I am so grateful it was nothing but my smoke alarm looking for a cheap thrill, but it showed me who I really am.
I’m a woman who believes in God, still loves her dog and refuses to possibly be caught in public with bad hair, no earrings and no lip gloss.
So, sue me. Truth hurts.