I’m Mrs. Robinson
I felt sorry for the guy beside me who unknowingly picked a spot next to the sickest person with the worst case of the “strep throat sweats” in the auditorium.
In case you’re wondering where I have been, or not, I’ve been dying since last Saturday.
Like any nurse, who apparently makes the worst patients ever, I thought that I could handle my 102 to 103 fever on my own.
Beer with Motrin.
Telling Shawn that in the event of my death, I give him permission to marry someone who is fatter and uglier than me.
Chicken noodle soup.
Motrin with a dose of Mom’s foot in my ass to get to the doctors.
Going to the doctors after suffering for 5 delirious days.
And of all the days of the year this could have happened on, I was diagnosed with strep throat on my niece’s graduation day.
So there I was sandwiched between Shawn and a stranger as I rummaged through my purse searching for something, anything that would quell the knives slicing the back of my throat.
I ended up finding a mint that was probably in there since Christmas.
I know it was Christmas because Santa’s face was on the wrapper.
I also found my chap stick.
Oh and an animal cracker.
Surprisingly there were no critters in there.
I consider this a win.
“Hey babe,” Shawn whispered, “How old are these girls?”
“And just think of all the growing they have left to do.”
“You hit your boob plateau when you were 18. Their boobs are already bigger than yours.”
Good Lord. I can’t take that pervert anywhere.
I looked at my watch and it was 7:15. The show was supposed to start at 7:00.
I could feel the chills coming.
I dreamt of my bed.
I dreamt about surgically removing my tonsils with the Christmas candy wrapper.
It can be done I tell you.
I looked at my boobs and wished they were bigger.
Only slightly bigger.
Like enough to where they don’t look like floppy toddler sock tits.
I coughed into my shoulder.
Shawn nudged me and mouthed “You’re fucking gross”
Then the music started.
Does anyone play the flute anymore?
Well this lady did.
And I gave mad props to the piano player with the best side burns I’ve ever seen.
And there she was.
Her gown flowed around her thin frame with an air of pride.
As beautiful as ever.
I sat through the entire 9237429743 hour spectacle of awards and speeches just thinking of how fast time flies.
I can remember her walking out into my living room, wearing her flower girl dress, stealing everyone’s breath away.
I can remember Shawn hoisting her up on his shoulders to pick apples from the highest part of the tree and then baking the most glorious pies afterwards.
I can remember the phone calls about school and friends.
I can remember sitting up north at the cottage braiding our hair into a heaping pile of a mess and laughing when we dared each other to go into town looking like that.
I can remember each birthday.
I can remember how excited she was when we told her that we were pregnant.
And I remember when she told me that I was going to be a wonderful Mom because I was a wonderful Aunt.
If I ever have a girl, I would want her to be just like her.
She is that amazing.
When the ceremony was over, she quickly stopped by before running off with her friends and thanked us for coming. “You’re a trooper she said. Just don’t hug me. I don’t want your cooties.”
And in all honesty, I wanted to swoop her up and hug her to death.
And before we made it out the doors I heard her call, “Aunt Kim!”
I turned around and she said to some boy with flaming red hair “This is her. My Aunt Kim.”
His face turned all shades of embarrassment, smiled then ran away.
I looked at my niece bewildered.
“Oh, I brought a picture of you for show and tell one day. He thought that you were really hot.”
To a 14 year old?
That’s right readers, I’m Mrs. Robinson.
Even with the strep throat sweats.
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