I swear to you every word I am about to utter is true. THIS my friends is why I started to blog—waiting for this very moment. Now most of the time when truth is stranger than fiction I cannot share it. It involves other people’s stories—and while their stories might prove to be EXTREMELY ENTERTAINING as it relates to me, it is not my place to divulge. So family, friends, and clients know that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
But today a stranger was involved and all bets are off.
Today was an ordinary day. I went to the paint store. I wanted to check out their scratch and dent paint—yes that is a real thing. I get out of the car and walk through the parking lot. The rest of this story will now just be flashes of images, chaotic and confusing.
A woman is walking through the parking lot with a can of paint and a dog. Why she had a dog with her continues to haunt me. Was it a service animal? Does she think this is Paris? Who takes their dog with them to the paint store? Are dogs allowed in paint stores? Anyway, these are questions that stay with me—still.
The dog moves quickly in front of the lady jerking her leash. The woman jerks to the other side. At this point I don’t know what is going on. We are both walking through the same empty parking spot. She is far from me but suddenly too close. The lady rights herself, the dog runs the other way, and the lady trips. Her can of paint is uncovered. The quart of paint she carries has no lid. If I write it again in another way will it then make sense? Why was she walking through the parking lot with a dog and an UNCOVERED CAN OF PAINT? The paint dumps. Obviously. On me.
Again. Flashes. Images. I don’t understand. I can’t explain any of it. I pray I don’t have to go into a court room and be drilled because I. AM. STILL. SO. CONFUSED.
Now this lady runs back to her car and hands me a napkin. A napkin. Really? It’s a beverage napkin.
I am like the scene from the Sistine Chapel where God and Adam are about to touch fingers. The woman extends the napkin towards me– I reach out to receive it wondering if one small white napkin will suffice for a quart of paint now dripping down my lower body…And it all makes complete sense. There must be hidden cameras. Candid Camera? Ellen Degeneres?
So now I don’t know what to do. I am not self conscious because there is paint ALL OVER ME I am worrying about what to do in front of national television. I don’t want to let on that I know–that would be boring tv. Do I make a scene? How does my hair look? Do I hug the woman and spread the paint on this prankster? And when did I last put on lipstick? I can’t get any further in this thought process as she suggests we go into the paint store and see what they have to clean me up. Ok. Got it. This is where they will reveal themselves. This is where I will see Ellen.
The paint store is crowded. They do not appear interested in my plight. The woman wants to know if they can match the color that I am wearing. I am given 3 large trash bags to drive home with. The lady leaves. I am left in the parking lot.
I put on a trash bag around my left leg and then one on my right leg. I put the third on the seat. I drive home.