The meds are wearing off and while I'm still goofed up on Vicodin, I'm becoming ever-so-slightly more lucid.
I did a little exploring where the Madonna briefs were. A not so thorough examination confirms that there was definitely an ASSacre. (Sorry, how many times will I be able to us that one again?) Everything is really swollen and there's a lot of blood. I'm really not looking forward to tomorrow when the drugs completely wear off and I only have Vicodin to soothe my poor sad ass. Don't even ask me how I feel about pooping. Tomorrow is another day.
Here's the promised Madonna shirt story...
As a child I went to private religious schools. This wasn't so much a choice, but rather a situation forced by circumstance (there weren't many after/before school child care programs available to my single mother save for at parochial schools). My first school,
Village Christian, can best be described as a Fundamentalist Christian hell. Some of the highlights include a daycare assistant and teacher harassing me because I was Catholic (it was sick what these women did to six-year-old me) and the school calling Child Protective Services on my mother because I told my schoolmates that my grandfather used to let me have sips from his beer. The latter is almost funny when you consider what I'm about to tell you about the Madonna shirt.
Little Laura at age 4, between Kindergarten and first grade, went to Village Christian Summer Day Camp. Little Laura was pale and blonde, much like she is now. When the Summer Camp went to the beach, Little Laura asked her camp counselors to help her put her sunscreen on her back and shoulders because she couldn't reach. Her counselors told her that she was old enough to do it herself and refused to help her. Little Laura, being four years old, decided that if she couldn't do it and they wouldn't help her, that she wouldn't wear sunscreen at all. Little Laura's brand new bottle of sunscreen was never opened. When LL returned home that night, she was "as red as a lobster" as was quite badly burned. The next morning when LL tried to raise her arms over her head to take off her shirt, she couldn't--it hurt too badly. When LL's mom helped her out she screamed when she saw what was under LL's shirt---a blanket of blisters and second degree burns. LL spent the night at the Sherman Oaks Burn Center and was a very, very sick little girl.
It was not a happy experience for our heroine. She was comforted by one thing...the cool mesh shirt that went over her bandages. It was the age of Madonna and she felt uber-cool to be in possession of one doctor approved mesh mini-shirt.
Too bad that when the bandages came off (which involves ripping off the damaged skin--to date the most painful experience I have ever gone through and I suspect it will even rival childbirth) the shirt had to go too. It was a sad day at LL's house--hello pain, goodbye fashion statement.
LL's mother was VERY ANGRY at the school and was even more enraged when they lied and said that they had helped put lotion on her back and arms. It didn't help that LL's mother still had the sealed bottle of sunscreen to remind her that they were big fat liars. Not to mention the fact that they had always been big fat assholes.
I'm still not sure why my mother didn't sue Village Christian's ass off. I suspect she just didn't have the money and the emotional resources to take it on. I'm still angry at the bunch of hypocritical fanatics.
As terrible as the experience was, I did get my introduction to high fashion a la the doctor's office. And now I have the pants to match. Whoo hoo!
(Heh, a piece of info, I can't tell stories in real life either. People listen because they love me and love means nodding and smiling and putting up with it anyways. :) )
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