I have a lot of problems that only an entitled woman living in the United States would actually consider "problems." If you ask St. Winston, he will tell you that personality-wise, I greatly resemble an angry Shi-tzu. A small, hairy creature who fixates on something and keeps yapping and snarling in a way that's really more annoying than threatening. And all that tiny rage goes on long past any reasonable due date. It's been like 4 weeks since these events occurred and still, I find myself turning to Winston as we sit in the basement watching the X-Files or Mountain Men (History Channel, drop everything and love it) and saying:
"I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch."
or
"If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru."
or
"Maybe I'm too mentally unstable to go to grad school or travel. I am never leaving the house again."
or
"Dunkin Donuts can suck it."
Let's go back to 4 weeks ago. I am running late because my kid won't turn off his damn Xbox and get in the fucking car, so I can take him to his pediatric dermatologist because the Gorbachev spot on his forehead looks weird and then on to his fencing class. As soon as I get in the car, I realize that I am out of gas, too.
"Fuck fuckity fuck! Great! Not only are we late, but I have to stop and get gas! OMG this is the worst day ever! "
So I pull in the gas station and try to make the pump go with my debit card. Nothing.
"Shit shit shit!"
So I run into the gas station to ask the attendant to turn on the pump. There is a young girl behind the counter, maybe 20, talking on her mobile phone, sucking on a lollypop and squirming about in a tank top and hot pants. And flip flops. She ignores me.
Me: Umm? Excuse me? I need help. The pump won't turn on.
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: (dirty look)
Me: HELLO?! I'm in a HURRY!
Gas Station Lindsay Lohan: I'm on the phone. (disgusted noise)
Me: (exploding) Really? What, are you on the phone with fucking BP corporate? Come on! You're at work, honey!
Lindsay Lohan: (shifts lollypop to corner of her mouth, sighs and says...) I'll call you back. I gotta go.
(then says to me...) Whaaat?
Me: I'm in a hurry and the pump won't turn on. Can you please turn the pump on?
Lindsay: Umm....did you put your card in?
Me: Yes, I fucking put my card in! What, did you think I just hopped out of the car and wandered in here without trying anything?!? I put my card in and nothing happened.
Lindsay: Did you use a credit card?
Me: No, I used my library card. Yes, I used my credit card! Nothing happened!
Lindsay: Listen, don't get all upset with me. I can't do anything from in here. (gestures at the register with her lolly pop) It's like... I can't like... you know.
Then she shifted a little and I saw, on the floor behind her, a tiny fat dog wearing a muscle shirt and running in his sleep on the floor beside Lindsay.
Me: That's just great. Isn't that nice? You can bring your fucking dog to work with you and eat lollies and talk on your phone AT WORK but you can't turn on the fucking pumps at the gas station YOU WORK AT!
Lindsay: Uhhhh...
Later, after I leap frogged to another gas station and got gas, I called Winston crying.
Me: ... and now we're late for the dermatologist and you know I can't sleep worrying about all of Henry's delicate skin issues and that Gorbachev thing on his forehead has me so stressed out and we are definitely going to be late to fencing now... I have the worst luck. I am going to go back to that damn gas station and smack that little bitch.
And then. The weekend Winston didn't buy me a historic houseboat for Mother's Day. The day prior to my not getting a boat, Winston we had been out trying to find a tree for the front yard to replace the one we had taken out. We stopped at a nursery and wandered around, not finding what I wanted.
Tree Man: Hello! Can I help you find something?
Winston: We're looking for some trees. What was it you were looking for, honey?
Me: I want a False Acacia or a Catalpa. Either one is fine. Where do we find those?
Tree Man: Oh. Well, you see, we don't carry any of those trees. No, but we do have Honey Locust which is similar. Now, those are right over...
Me: I don't want Honey Locust. It doesn't get the drapey flowers. No Catalpa either?
Tree Man: No, I'm sorry. But you see, you only find those trees in the forest.
Me: (seething, clenching fists, gritting teeth)
Winston: (quickly) Thank you for your time! Let's go, kids! Come on, Dana!
As soon as we hit the car, I blew.
Me: Did you hear that, Winston? Those trees only grow in the forest! He actually said that to me! Gregor Mendel just told me my trees only grow in the fucking woods! ALL TREES GROW IN THE FUCKING WOODS!!! We were standing in a field of trees from the motherfucking woods!!
Winston: Calm down. He didn't mean it like that.
Me: Oh yes he did! He acted like I asked for a fucking unicorn tree! I asked for native Ohio trees that you see every damn day! But apparently, they only grow in the goddamn forest because technology cannot deduce how to get a tree out of the forest and into a shitty little tree lot! Oh wait! It has!
Winston: He's a tree guy. He's not as eloquent as you. He just meant they don't carry them. Relax.
Me: They are fucking encouraging the homogenization of the environment! If they have their way, Ohio will be fucking arborvitae and Centennial oaks as far as the eye can see! They don't care about native birds and honey bees! They are destroying nature! And profiting from it! Fucking trees grow in the forest! Of course they do! Turn around. I'm going to tell him off.
Winston: Come on. Calm down. We'll find one somewhere else.
Me: If I see that motherfucking tree man, I am going to hit him with my Subaru.
Emotionally, Mother's Day was difficult for me because that was the day I realized that Dunkin' Donuts was fucking with me and excluding me from free donuts. I awoke to a cup of coffee and silence, which is what I most crave from my family. No one asked me where their hairbrush was or accused anyone of eating all the Lucky Charms. I retreated with my coffee to the calm waters of the internet to check my email and read the news.
Which is where, I found this article on NewsNet5.com, in which I learn that I am excluded, as a person allergic to strawberries, from my free donut on Mother's Day. And you know what? Dunkin Donuts Can Suck It, And Not Just On Mother's Day.
About 15 minutes later, Winston strolled into the quiet dining room where I sat typing frantically.
Winston: Can I make you some breakfast, honey?
Me: No. I'm busy. Fuckers think they can get away with this. We'll see about that. They pissed off the wrong housefrau!
Winston: What are you on about now?
Me: Fucking Dunkin Donuts is offering a free donut to all mothers today. But not me! Oh no! The only donut they are offering is this fucking strawberry monstrosity and I am pissed as shit about it! Since when is strawberry the color and flavor of a mothers love? What about an old fashioned donut? Or a glazed donut? BUT NO!!! It has to be fucking strawberry! Do you have any idea how many people nation wide are allergic to berries? I am sick and tired of the anti-peanut lobby and the strawberry lobbyists! You know they're in bed together! It's a fact!
Winston: So, are we going up there so you can stage a scene or a sit-in or something? Is that how we're spending Mother's Day? Cause I thought the plan was Mentor Headlands and Scooter Dawgs.
Me: No. They don't deserve my presence but they are getting a very strongly worded letter. Just let me finish up.
To Whom it May Concern at Dunkin Donuts:
I am writing in response, or rather outrage, to your free donut giveaway for Mother's Day. Really, people? Is strawberry the only flavor you could think of? At what exact point did this formula became the standard for all things pertaining to love? Mothers =Heart=Red=Strawberry? I mean, if you have to go with red, why not cherry or passion fruit or currant? And for that matter, why red? Mothers hate red food, because it stains clothes. If you really wanted to create a special donut for Mothers Day, you would create one that is immaculately clean, drenched neither in powdered sugar, nor sticky jelly nor grease. It would be more like astronaut food. But why don't we get down to what this is really about: the power of the anti-peanut lobby and the iron fist of control that the strawberry growers have on this nation. There is no chance in hell that you would market a Crunchy Peanut Donut for Mother's Day! The anti peanut mothers have you scared out of your mind! And those strawberry growers are wily! Just walk down the cereal aisle: every major cereal has a second version featuring strawberries. Rice Krispies! Rice Krispies with Strawberries! Strawberry Count Chocula! Honey Bunches of Oats: Now with Strawberries! And let me ask you this: when was the last time someone garnished your pancakes and eggs with a peanut? Never? Well, as someone who is deathly allergic to strawberries I cannot count the times someone has garnished my plate with an artfully carved strawberry that I did not ask for! I am not an animal! I am a person too, and a MOTHER and I would like my fucking free donut and not have to die from it. Please send me a coupon for a free old fashioned donut because that is the only one I like anyway.
Kind Regards
Dana DeLaney
I received this encouraging response:
Product Feedback from danadelaneymcswain
Thank you for contacting Dunkin' Donuts, we value our guests' feedback and we'll make sure your comments get shared. If we need additional information we will contact you soon.
Which brings us to last weekend. Amazing 5 day vacation with just me and my kids. Aside from going away with Winston (which never happens due to planetary alignment) it is a real luxury for me. I spend so much of my time organizing them and yelling at them and in general being saturated with the business of being their mother, that I don't often get the time to just kick back and show them that Mommy doesn't, in fact, suck all the time. We went to visit my brother, Uncle Dan, in upstate New York, even visited Vermont. It was awesome and we had a great time.
That is until 3.5 hours into the 8 hour drive home. When I suffered an enormous panic attack. I hadn't had one in YEARS. If you've never had one, consider yourself lucky. If you have, you know exactly what I am talking about. And you understand why it took us an additional 3 hours to get home. I had three big attacks and several tremors over about a day and a half, and once, while I was lying in a fetal position on Winston's chest (this cures it for some reason), I asked him, "OMG honey. Am I mental? Like, do you think that after circling mental-ness for the last 38 years, I have finally snapped and later this week you will find me eating cat food and painting the ceiling with condiments?" He just laughed and said, "No, don't be silly. You're nervous about grad school. That's all. You just blew a fuse. You'll be fine. "
(And you wonder why my family calls him "St Winston?")
Honestly, up until that point it had not occurred to me that I was freaking out, shaking, crying and whimpering BECAUSE MY HUSBAND HAD OFFERED TO PAY A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF TUITION SO I COULD NURSE MY ABSURD GOAL OF BEING A LEGIT LIBRARIAN BY THE TIME I'M 40. Apparently, being offered the chance to hang out, take classes, NOT WORK, and become a co-ed again was TOO MUCH FOR MY SQUIRREL BRAIN TO HANDLE.
Anyway, the other night we were watching Anthony Bourdain's No
Reservations in the basement and eating what we call "glop" and drinking
Modelo's. Glop is basically a brick of Velveeta melted into a jar of
salsa and eaten with too many jalapenos. If you've never seen No
Reservations, it's basically travel/food porn. Bourdain travels the
world eating. We like to eat and get drunk and watch. Sometimes, he
travels to exotic and expensive locals, like Brittany or Chile or
Uruguay. The food is amazing; we immediately add it to our travel
list. But on other shows he gets all moody and travels to fly-ridden
parts of Africa or Haiti and tries to eat the UNICEF gruel that the
locals eat, along with some unrecognizable rodent on a stick. I think of
them as the "penance episodes."
Anthony Bourdain: The
people of Haiti haven't had food or water since the quake. This reminds
me of the episode we shot in the Sudan. Actually, the paste we ate in
the Sudan was more filling. But those people were missing limbs and
there were more machine guns as opposed to machete's. Lots of machetes
here.
Me: I am totally going to regret these jalapenos tomorrow.
Winston: You want another beer?
Anthony
Bourdain: This child is digging with a stick through the
Port-au-Prince landfill for food for his family. It really makes you
think. I mean, I won't eat sushi if it's not minutes old. The people
of Haiti are eating trash and drinking sewage.
Me: (shoving nachos in my mouth) Oh my God. I am so fat. Let's just give up and get really fat.
Winston: I hate myself. Why did we eat so many nachos? I hate my pants.
Me:
I am never doing this again. Why do we keep doing this? I wish I knew
how to make myself throw up. How can you love me when I am this
repulsive?
Anthony Bourdain: This child obviously has
dysentery and cholera, and still he digs through the trash to feed his
family. I need a moment. Turn the cameras off! Turn them off!
Winston: You're not fat. I love you.
Me:
Winston? Did we just watch children starving in Haiti while gorging
ourselves on nachos and beer? And then bitch about our fat?
Winston: It's all relative, baby. I'm going to bed. Burp.
But the more I think about it, most of my bullshit is not relative. All of my problems are pretty little packages of nonsense that do not end with me starving or dying of a machete attack. My first world problems do not in any way relate to the real world problems of say, the Haitian kid. Let's compare.
Haitian Landfill Kid
digs with stick in landfill
for food
for dying family
drinks sewage
has cholera
has dysentery
has to listen to Anthony Bourdain narrate his pain
surrounded by hungry desperate people with machetes
ME
late for pediatric dermatologist
late for fencing classes
Subaru needs gas
landscaping issues
vacation with kids
terrified of expensive advanced degree
no houseboat in backyard
threatened by free strawberry donuts
feels "fat" because I eat too many nachos
Yeah. It's not even close to being relative. I really am an idiot, driven by entitlement and rage. Winston agrees with the rage part, but only from 20 feet away and with the promise that I won't attack.
Me: Winston, do you think that I have rage issues? Be honest. I won't get mad, I swear.
Winston: I have no idea what you are talking about. I love you and think you are perfect in every way. (inching towards the door)
Me: (screaming) Listen, God damn-it, tell me the truth or I'll kick your ass: Do I have rage issues? Do you think I can't control my temper???
Winston: (taking large backwards steps) Maybe. Occasionally. Sometimes.
Me: I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey!!!
So I am trying to let some of the rage go. I have forgiven the Tree Man for trying to subvert native species, I am planning to just avoid those Dunkin Donuts assholes (which will help with the fat thing) and I am taking grad school one day at a time and hoping I don't fuck it up too bad. But so help me God, I still want to smack that little bitch at the gas station.
~dana
