On this particular night, I somehow convinced my almost ninety-year-old grandmother and my mother (I won't tell everyone how old you are mom but not because I'm being nice but because then everyone will compliment you on how good you look and this post is NOT about you so there) to get INSIDE the playpen with Riley. So there we were, all sitting down and having a good time. It was actually one of the most comical things I've ever witnessed, to be honest with you. I even made them play a round of Hot Potato.
Excuse the blurry picture, but this is a screenshot from a video I took of the event, and OMG how thrilled is Riley that some of her favorite people are sitting in her little Baby Jail with her?!
I jumped up and ran to get paper towels and, in the meantime, ripped off my jeans. Ahh, the benefits of living in a female-only household. I got back into the room and began cleaning off anything I could, and scrubbing down the mats on the floor of the playpen. I stood up and turned to head for the garbage when I realized it.
You know that feeling when you can feel someone looking at you? Like even though you're not fully paying attention or looking in their direction, you feel their eyes boring into your soul? Usually, you either pretend not to notice, or you turn and look and see the person staring at you. In my case, I turned, looked out the window and across the street into the restaurant window, to see no less than 30 people staring at me. In my underwear. Which happened to be of the color nude.
So, what did I do? I acted real calm and casual and FLUNG MYSELF AGAINST THE WALL IN HORROR.
My mom: What the hell?!
Me: *cant breathe*
My grandma: ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!
My mom: I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE SAYING
Grandma: ROAD SIGNS?! WHAT?!
Me: Oh my god SOMEONE CLOSE THE DAMN BLINDS. EVERYONE IN THAT RESTAURANT IS LOOKING AT MY ASS.
Grandma: Ohh why didn't ya say so?! I'll do it.
So, I sat there, on top of some random tool box, in a shirt and my (nude..did I mention they were nude) underwear, flattened as far against the wall as humanly possible, as I awaited my Grandmother's attempt at 1) getting up from the floor 2) opening the door to the playpen 3) getting past the dog WHO WAS LAYING AGAINST THE DOOR and 4) figuring out how to close the blinds.
This wasn't looking good, folks.
SHE STOOD THERE AND STARED AT ALL OF THE PEOPLE DOWN BELOW, TRYING TO PERHAPS IDENTIFY THEM FOR A FUTURE POLICE REPORT.
Me: Grandma, just close the blinds. PLEASE CLOSE THE BLINDS.
Grandma: WHO'S LOOKIN AT YA ASS?! I DON'T EVEN SEE NOBODY!
Me: *my legs going numb from the position I was in* JUST CLOSE THEM GRANDMA
Grandma: Well, let me see heaaa....I got no idea how to close em!!
What followed was an approximate twenty minute tutorial on how to close the MOTHEREFFING BLINDS. At this point, I can't even imagine the conversation going on in that restaurant, much less did I even want to. Nevertheless, as soon as I had cover, I scurried out of that room and into my pajamas. Let's just say the garbage didn't go out that evening.
The moral of the story: there is none. Oh, maybe that I'm a moron.
Actually, the moral is CLOSE YOUR BLINDS. EVEN IF YOU LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NEBRASKA. JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE.