Fairy Hell

A few days ago I took my kids to the park and they discovered the remains of a raccoon that had obviously been shanked by some gang member coyotes.  

Kids:  MOM CAN WE TAKE SOME BONES HOME?!

Me:  No.

Kids:  (Hyperventilating)  PLEASE MOM PLEEEEEEAAAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEE?!

Me:  Oh My God.  That is so disgusting.  No.

Kids:  YOU ARE SO MEAN!  IT IS SCIENCE!

Me:  I seriously care.  Can you please just go play on the slide now and pretend you are “normal” children. 

A few days later I left the kids with Mike because I needed to get highlights.  Yes.  I can say “needed” in good conscious because it had been four weeks.  My friend Steph does my hair and we spent two glorious hours discussing how Pinterest is a bullshit tactic to make normal moms feel like shit about themselves.  Well, I refuse to participate in this cult like following.  As curious as I am to know what it would feel like to be motivated to make pinatas that glow or follow the simple step-by-step instructions on how to carve ‘David’ out of a cantaloupe so I can teach my kids about both art history and nutrition...I am simply not.  Then Steph gave me a wet willy while she was shampooing me, as in SHE-STUCK-HER-WET-FINGER-IN-MY-EAR and we started laughing hysterically.  I resolved to never make friends with my next hair stylist if Steph ever leaves me.

Anyway, I got home and said hi to Mike and our friend, Earl, who had come over to visit.  I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a spoon, walked over to the sink, stuck a spoonful in my mouth and nearly choked because that is when I saw IT.

Me:  Mike WHAT is that soaking in my new tupperware?

Mike:  Oh I took the kids to the park and they found this dead raccoon.  They wanted to keep its jaw bone.

Me:  (Starting to dry heave)  Is this a mother fucking joke?  There is actual SKIN floating in there MICHAEL.

Mike:  Yeah it is super cool huh?! I thought you would like it. (Earl sitting there watching this transpiring spectacle)

Me:  I can think of a lot of words right now but oddly “cool” is not one of them.  Get that nasty thing out off my counter and out of my house.  I am seriously going to vomit.

Kid From Other Room:  Mooooom- Dad picked it up with his bare hands and only used hand sanitizer because he had to take me to my golf lesson.

Me:  Earl- Does this shit go on in YOUR house?  I mean seriously, do you ever come home and surprise Dee with a carcass and say “Here Babe this reminded me of you, what do you say we get a little romantic later...” while kissing her neck.

Earl:  (Chuckling and sympathetically patting Mike on the back) Yo man, I gotta go.

Ugh.  I feel sick even typing this.

Moving on, a couple years ago my mom became obsessed with “fairy gardens.”  Recipe:  You take a variety of minuscule foliage and plant it in the top of an empty bird bath.  Next you add ceramic fairies, some gravel and a bunch of other tiny shit.  Then you sell them for a fuck ton of money to people like my mom.  My mom literally bought every single one for her beloveds and probably some homeless people.  Yes, even I was one of the blessed recipients of these creations of marvel.  I decided it would behoove me to surprise and reciprocate this generous gift since my mother’s birthday was coming up.

Soooo, I called the flower nursery where the almighty genesis of fairy births was commencing.  I was promptly informed that I would need to pay an extra fee if I wanted it the next next day because fairy gardens were in extreme demand since some lady kept coming in and buying all their stock.  Um ...Pimping fairies is like a whole new low but whatever, your karma not mine.

The next day I drove across town with my children, hauled the thing into my car, accidentally broke the legs off of a fairy and was subjected to a condescending look from the dude who worked there, refrained from telling him that he sells fucking fairies for a living and bought a replacement fairy, then felt guilty for abandoning the paraplegic fairy and took her as well.  Next I drove to my mom’s house, snuck the thing inside, set up all the little fairies, with their tiny benches, frogs and butterflies etc., climbed back into the car and listened to my kids bitch and moan for an hour while we sat in traffic.

Later that night my mom called and gushed about how much she looooooved her fairy garden blah, blah, blah.  Satisfied that I had officially secured my position as alpha sibling; I deemed the inconvenience and expense entirely worthwhile until two weeks later when I went back over to my mom’s house and gasped in horror.  My mom’s fairy garden looked like Hiroshima post nuke.  The fairies were lying on the ground covered in dirt, all the plants had dried up and bugs were crawling on it.  “Mom, this is officially the most disturbing thing I have ever seen and I watch crime shows.”  My mom then said all nasally, “Oh Honey, I am sorry.  I am just waaaaay too busy for that kind of thing and you know how I feel about knick-knacks.”  

So I lit it on fire... because fairy hell is way funnier anyway.  I hope you have a beautiful week.  I love you all.  So MUCH. XO