Mortified!

I've got to write this while my
mortification is still fresh.

Okay. So, this morning I screwed
the top on the moka coffee maker
and, at the same time, completely
screwed up my back. I don't know
what happened physiologically,
but I do know that I'm unable to
stand upright. Luckily, my sitting
muscles are unaffected.

Okay. So, I'm just sitting, minding
my own business waiting for the
muscle relaxant to take effect,
planning our trip south to our favorite place on the seashore when I realize that
The Man is outside our door talking to some people. Who? I don't know.
He's just out there. Little Miss Busy-Body. Chattering away.

I'm thinking, "If he brings anyone in here I'll stab him with a pencil and at the trial
when I tell the jury what happened they'll let me off because everybody knows that
you don't bring uninvited strangers into the apartment of a woman with back spasms,
hot flashes and dirty hair.

Suddenly, without any warning AT ALL, he opens the door and says cheerily to me,
"Guess who's here? It's the Proprietaria (the owner) of our building and her son!"
Then, (and, I'm not kidding here!) HE INVITES THEM INTO OUR APARTMENT
WHICH IS A COMPLETE MESS AND LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING RECENTLY
RAIDED BY A BLACK BEAR WITH A BINGE EATING DISORDER BECAUSE MY
BACK IS IN A SPASM AND I HAVEN'T CLEANED UP ANYTHING OR WASHED
THE BREAKFAST DISHES, OR PUT AWAY MY OLD RATTY SWEATER THAT
IS HANGING ON THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, OR VACUUMED THE CARPET
WHICH HAS A WEEK'S WORTH OF CRUD ON IT, OR THROWN AWAY THE
HALF-EATEN APPLE AND EMPTY WINE BOTTLE ON THE COUNTER, OR PUT
AWAY THE SUITCASE THAT'S SITTING OUT ON THE SOFA, UNZIPPED
WITH A WHITE PLASTIC BAG HANGING OUT OF IT, AND TWO ODD-SHAPED
CARTONS OF STUFF I'M SHIPPING BACK TO THE STATES AND A BIG BALL
OF BUBBLE-WRAP PACKING MATERIAL LYING ON THE FLOOR AGAINST
THE WALL, AND WHY OH WHY ARE THE MAN'S CROCS STICKING OUT OF A
CERAMIC PLANTER?...oh, I'm hyperventilating!

It was absolutely mortifying and I had no place to hide. I just sat there, frozen, my
brain screaming "THIS IS BAD! THIS IS REALLY BAD!! DO SOMETHING!!!"

But, what could I do? I couldn't get up. Otherwise I would have fled the building,
so great was my shame.

Now I know how my mother felt when she'd have her bridge ladies over and they'd
mistakenly enter my bedroom while searching for the bathroom and discover my
den of filth and chaos. My mother used to have fits about my room. I forget all the
things she threatened to do if I didn't get in there and clean it up.

Well, Mom, you'll probably be somewhat pleased to learn that I finally got my just
desserts. Call it karma, universal justice or the hand of God, but today within the
blink of an eye, I was tried, convicted and sentenced for all my past, sloppy domestic
transgressions.

But, BUT the thing is I'm NOT a total slob...under normal conditions! I'm really
pretty good at keeping things neat and mostly clean and orderly.

But, today...today! Oh, the agony! The disgrace!

Can you feel my pain?

I almost cried. That's how bad it was. I actually had to fight the formation of tears in
my eyes! And, all the while, The Man is standing there TOTALLY CLUELESS, laughing
and talking away, having a good ol' time with these people...the owner of our building!...
"The Senora!" Who I'd NEVER met before because The Man always pays the rent by
wire or goes to her house. All the tenants go to her to pay the rent. This is the first time
in ten years that she has deigned to set foot in this crumbly old building, and it had to
be today and my back had to go out and I had to be sitting there in my most ragamuffin
clothes and I wasn't even wearing a bra...another punch to my solar-humiliated-plexus.

What's really weird is that after they all left (finally, thank God!) I got up out of my sick
chair and started cleaning. I put everything away, did the dishes, ate the half apple, all
in about five minutes. It's like I thought they were coming back or something.

And, in my distress, I forgot to remember that my back hurt. I actually started feeling
physically better.

Mentally, though, I remain a basket case.