The queen of awkward run-ins

I’ve had a number of awkward encounters with famous or influential people and having had one just two weeks ago, it reminded me of the others I’ve had–all the political ones, like the time Joe Lieberman rescued me from the press near the Senate floor, the time I told the President in the elevator that people used the word scrumptious to describe him, the time a female Senator insisted I stole a book from her, the time Senator Thurmond pinched my ass in his office during a photo op, the time Ted Kennedy forced me to throw a ball to his dogs as payment for taking a photo with him, and other less memorable moments where I inserted myself in a public setting.

There was also the time I thanked Melky Cabrera for his part in the 2004 Red Sox World series win, thinking he was Orlando, when they look nothing alike but I got caught up hearing that Cabrera was in the same bar as me and acted instantly like an idiot. I blame excitement.

And the time during Pedroia and Ellsbury’s rookie season that I stood behind them in the dugout while they were hanging out stretching and shouted, TAKE YOUR SHIRTS OFF ROOKIES, repeatedly, from 20 feet away, like a lunatic, until they turned around and said REALLY? to me, confused and somewhat disgusted, which I chose to ignore.  That one can be blamed on Vodka and my undying love for Pedroia.

The most recent example is more toned down and innocent, though still awkward all the same.  I was reminded of it last night when I saw a picture of this person standing behind the President giving a press conference, thinking to myself, ugh, you are such a disaster sometimes.

Two weeks ago Germany exploded into flames and my entire body began morphing into Shrek at 3pm daily, like clockwork.  To rectify the situation, I found myself two plastic kiddie pools and a sprinkler to set up for the rest of the heat wave.  The Mr., though, pointed out we were missing a sprinkler part and so off I went to the PX in a lovely pregnant ensemble consisting of yoga pants worn so thin you could just see my bloomers from a football field away, a sports bra and tank top I had worn for two days straight and flip flops, the only thing I’m interested in slipping my fat feet into these days.

So there I am, wandering the two aisles in the Home and Garden section out back when I round the corner and almost bounce an oncoming guy off my stomach, in a very, not looking but leading with my stomach type way.

“Oh god, sorry,” I exclaim, barely glancing up, just slightly noticing an older and normal looking guy who doesn’t appear to be disgusted or angry towards me.

“No, I’m sorry, excuse me.”  How polite of him for recognizing the importance of my large existence and duty to breed the next generation.

Standing in front of the sprinkler part section, I go back and forth between fingering sprinkler parts and comparing them to the picture the Mr. sent me off with.  The only job I have is to match them up like a Memory game and I’m failing miserably.  They all look the same and I’m tempted to just buy the big box that has a new sprinkler AND all its parts together.  Then I heard the man coming closer and so I waddled over to him, tapped him on the back and launched myself into what I consider a normal way to approach an unsuspecting victim of mine.

“Excuse me, Sir.  Would you be able to help me with this?  I am unqualified at locating sprinkler parts and here is the part I was told to get and they all look the same and you seem to be qualified for the job.  Any way you could come around here and help me?  I bet you can help me.”  I jammed the phone in his face, barely made eye contact and swung around on my heels, doing a quick penguin shake over to the parts area to show him the three sprinkler connectors I thought were the closest.

He gets down on his hands and knees and is rummaging through the parts and double checking my phone and I can tell he isn’t sure of what he’s doing which makes me feel sad and better at the same time and so I just continue blabbing on, to make up for the uncomfortable fact that I’ve got someone else’s husband trapped on the floor working for me, only because I’m fat and pregnant and bossy and he has probably been taught not to say no to anyone with another human in their stomach.

“If you can’t figure out the part, don’t worry about it, I’ll probably just buy a whole damned new one.  I mean look at me,” I gestured to my profile like I was Vanna White, “I can’t be sitting around LIKE THIS at my house hot and sweating and swollen.  The other day my feet turned into cinder blocks and I’m turning into an ogre but don’t worry if you can’t figure it out.  I’ll just buy them all or just have my husband spray me with the hose for the next week. I mean even my almost two year old is looking at me in disgust and the Germans don’t think nudity is always appropriate and my doctor says this massive child is almost 8 pounds already which I am not looking forward to but don’t worry about it if you can’t figure it out.  This is not your problem.   Oh, maybe your wife needs a sprinkler by chance while you’re here?  Would be a good time to get one, don’t you think?”  Surely his wife could use a new sprinkler in her yard.

And then as I went to grab the parts out of his hand, he thought I was shaking his hand and so we had an awkward little claw grabbing session as he says, “You know, maybe I should get a few parts myself,” as he looked up at me, still on his knees, and I saw it.

I was talking to the 4 star General and Commander.  About sprinkler parts.  While making him squirrel around on his hands and knees for the crazy lady talking about heat waves and large children.  Horrified yet star struck, I took all the parts, said a quick goodbye and thank you and waddled as fast as my tree trunk legs would get me out of there.

I should really be put in a cage.