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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Monday
Mar282011

How I Get My Kicks

I spent a good three days last week messing with Serge. It's just so easy. I'm not a purse gal, really. I have a few grungy purse-type items, but I usually just haul my wallet around. And if I'm going to a bar or whatever, I put my license in my pocket and go wallet-free. Mostly because I'm the kind of gal who is sure to lose her wallet.

Serge is a really together fella. He always double checks things and knows where everything is. Which means my penchant for losing misplacing stuff drives him mad.

Serge's mom and step-dad arrived from Pennsylvania last week but before they got here we went to pick up some groceries and purchase step-dad George's favorite beer. They always ask to see my driver's license at this particular establishment, even though Serge is always the one buying the stuff. Probably because I don't look a day over nineteen, not because it's the law or anything.

Because I was tucking Henry into this sling contraption to go in the grocery store and didn't want to lug my wallet around I had removed my license from my wallet and set it on the seat of the car. Also because wrapping a Moby is a complicated system of placing miles and miles of fabric around certain parts of the body and rivals unlocking the secrets to the universe in difficulty, I sent Serge and Violet into the store ahead of me and said Henry and I would meet up with them in just a bit.

I was standing next to our car trying to wrap the goddamned thing as the wind whips it all over hell when this old woman decided she wanted to park in the spot next to our's. I was standing there fiddling with the damned Moby - next to Henry's car seat - with the door open, so I suppose she didn't want to attempt to park with our car door open so she just waited, watching me. I tried to wave her on, like, lady, this is gonna take a while but nooo, she was going to wait. And here's the thing, guys. It's not like the grocery store parking lot was full. There were empty stalls all over the place.

Have you ever tried to wrap a complicated baby sling and then stuff your newborn inside while some old bag stares angrily at you and impatiently guns the engine of her Lincoln Continental?

Anyway, in my anxious state I left the license on the car seat, unwittingly kicking off a series of events that would ultimately drive Serge mad. At the checkout the cashier asked for my license, I realized I'd forgotten it so I had to run out to the parking lot and grab it while Serge was forced to wait in the checkout line with about four people behind him offering up loud sighs to the heavens in regard to the annoying couple taking way more than their allotted time in the grocery store line. By the time I got back in the store Serge was in agony, shooting death daggers my way because his discomfort was all my fault because I'm such a stupid, forgetful numbskull. Let him try and wrap a Moby in tornado-like winds then stuff a tiny newborn into the maze of folds while some loony broad stares at him and refuses to park two motherfucking parking stalls down because it's ten feet farther away from the grocery store door!

When we got home I left the license in the center console even though Serge warned me twice not to forget it. The next time we went out in the car the terrible threat of a brazen thief wandering the suburbs, ultimately stumbling into our garage and spotting the license AND THEN smashing out the window of our car to get at such a piping hot commodity proved too much for my husband to handle and, after a short lecture about how such items left in cars are veritable invitations to be robbed, Serge brought my driver's license inside and set it on the kitchen counter, admonishing me to put it back in my wallet.

By now, the game of How Long Can I Use This License To Fuck With Serge was the highlight of my day. Several times the next day he told me to put my license in my wallet or I was sure to lose it. I mumbled incoherent responses and then giggled behind my hands, excitedly waiting to see if I could get him to do it himself. Sure enough, after he got home from work I caught him tucking the license into my wallet. I mean, a license not in its proper wallet home is sure to rip a hole in the space/time continuum, right? Or something like that. As long as that license continues to sit nakedly on the counter ALL IS NOT RIGHT WITH THE WORLD.

So that was fun. It was a good run.

I can't wait until a new Fuck With Serge project presents itself. It's gotta be organic, though, like the forgetting of the license. You can't plan these things.

Hey, all this Stay At Home Mom business is severely limiting my entertainment options and, you know... girls just wanna have fun.

Reader Comments (6)

Okay you have no idea how comforting this was to read, and no doubt after you read this you will feel better. It is usually my keys...for some reason. It used to be around PMS that I would find myself in places like Walmart or Kohls browsing around, trying on sweaters and stuff, checking out this and that and everything else, without ever even noticing that I had set my keys somewhere nearby, on a shelf maybe, who the heck knows where...one thing would lead me to another thing over there, which would draw me further and further away from my keys...and before I knew it, I am in line at the register, it's 10 PM, I am the last one in the store, the people are eager to leave. I get to the counter and all rung up, saying my thanks yous, and reach into my bag for the keys and.......O.M.G. the store is CLOSING. And I've been in every stinking department from shower curtains to art to kitchen items and clothes and shoes. I won't go on. It's happened. I keep them on an umbilical cord when I am not flirting with feeling as if I can be trusted. Yesterday, the wallet was left at home by the computer as I stood at the register at Panera. My ex has OCD and I LOVED the way he KNEW where EVERYTHING was at ALL times. I drove him crazy with my ways. Sometimes I would get aggravated and purposely annoy him, as you do, only I was worse. I was seething on the inside when he would go looking for the smallest evidence that I had done something wrong or broken something while he was out. Not like the loving thing you have with Serge, but I understand how a guy can get very upset when things are not the way they need them to be. Thanks.

March 28, 2011 | Unregistered Commentergina

put the moby on before you leave the house! its a million times easier that way. i HATE when i have to do it in the parking lot, or any public place, because it touches the ground and it grosses me out so much.

it will get easier!! i promise.

March 28, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterali

Oh I would have had much more fun fucking with the old lady waiting to park.

March 28, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterChrissyD

You have GOT to start thinking of a good April Fool's prank!

March 28, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKaren

That free Slingset pouch is sounding better now, isn't it? Offer's still open. A tip on the Moby is to take advantage of the stretchiness and tie it on before you leave the house.

March 29, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKristy

Did you offer me a Slingset pouch? How did I miss that?

March 30, 2011 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko

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