This past weekend was a surprisingly relaxed and down-to-Earth, backyard-BBQ-with-the-fam, rollerblade around the block with the kids, and just chill type of weekend. No cake orders. No devices, overly needy children nor alarms to wake me up in the mornings. No impossible house chores to tackle. Seriously. It was just- a stand-up, exemplary, suit-wearing, chivalrous AF, coat-over-the-puddle-so-your-stilettos-don’t-get-ruined, type of weekend. That. Never. Fucking. Happens.
Honestly, like can I go on about how amazing the weekend was? Because the weather. Let’s talk about that. The weather was so delicious you could eat it. There was this light, scrumptious breeze (I think this calorie deficit has caused me to hallucinate and turn everything into some kind of food including the weather. I know it makes no sense. I make no sense. Just go with it. Just love me and feed me
Anyways, the temperature was in the mid 70’s and the skies were a gorgeous Cerulean blue and puffs of fluffy white cotton candy clouds (see what I mean?) softly kissed it in random spots, like freckles on a child’s face. And every now and again, a ray of sunlight snuck its way through to splash a bit of extra warmth onto your face. I’m telling you. It was…mouth-watering? LOL. I’m sorry but I just had insert an LOL because I actually did laugh out loud at the end of this paragraph. I’m just keeping it real.
Quite frankly, my weekend was almost too relaxing and too white-picket-fence-a-poodle-and-genius toddlers type of perfect. I mean is it just me or do you ever feel like, “OK Universe. This day has gone on too fucking well. Some destructive shit should be happening to me annnnny minute now. Tick-fucken-tock Satan, let’s do the damn thing.”?
Because for me, things usually go from great to WTF is happening or from WTF is happening to great- it’s basically the law of my nature. Ely does not win. If she wins, the planet will be doomed and all of humanity shall die in a biblical flood. And no one wants that. Pffft.
Well now that I’ve made it pretty damn obvious that my weekend probably didn’t end as perfect as it started- you must be wondering WTF actually happened right so OK yea I’ll tell you friends……I’ll tell you.
Come Sunday evening, just after I finished my cardio session and was starting to wind down so that I can get myself ready to shower and lay down to read a book, I used the restroom. You know, normal people things that don’t need to discussed often, if ever at all. Nothing special. Same bathroom, same porcelain throne being used for the same old classic purposes.
And there was this pack of baby wipes, from which I proceeded to grab a baby wipe, which I then proceeded to use to thoroughly wipe my lady parts. Now, don’t judge me butt I like baby wipes. They just make everything that much fresher. And whatever makes me feel like I have a newborn butt is sitting pretty high up in my pedestal of semi-necessary-for-survival shit. I’m just saying.
Except this time I was deceived. Or, except this time I was a distracted asshole (no pun intended there). Because what I actually wiped myself with, was a Clorox bleach disinfectant wipe. And I wiped extra thoroughly.
It took a few seconds but once it all settled and I wrapped my head around what the fuck had just happened….
Remember that Usher song?
Let it burnnnnn….
let it burnnnn….
gotta let it burn.
The burn was real my friends. I had to RUN my burning ass straight to the shower faster than when you’re walking down a long dark hallway and you’re trying to keep cool because you’re like an adult right but then you get the sudden feeling a ghost is chasing you and your heart starts to race and you dash into your bed and beneath the covers (that’s never happened to you?!)
And then I just marinated in the water hoping I hadn’t done any permanent damage, until I felt relief of some kind.
It is currently Monday evening and it kind of still burns, by the way.
There’s a moral to this story boys and girls.
Never EVER buy Clorox wipes in a baby-wipe packaging, especially if you also happen to regularly use baby wipes at home. It’s just not likely to end well. Clearly.
Also? Sometimes in life, shit happens. And you may need a baby wipe to clean up that mess. But please be sure to read the label first and check that it’s not a Clorox wipe.
I’m that girl.
Don’t be that girl.
Especially if you’re a guy.
Have a good evening.