Hapless

You know how, in every Jane Austen book, there's this character who is always described in Cliff's Notes as "hapless"? The bumbling idiot who's being cuckholded, or the guy who just doesn't get that she's just not that into him? Or the parent who doesn't have enough money and is forced to extremes to try to marry her dowry-less daughter off to someone, anyone?

I feel like I am that hapless person. The person who always seems to be down on her luck. I knew of a family in my neighborhood growing up, and they were truly the definition of hapless. The dad couldn't find a job. Their daughters had horrible reproductive issues. The mom, the sole bread-winner, got terribly ill. Their son, on a mission, also got terribly ill and had to come home early and be hooked up to an IV for months and months. And everyone kept saying, "Oh, those poor so-and-so's. They don't need anything more happening to them. They've had enough challenges." And yet the challenges kept coming at them.

I feel like we're those hapless people, Ben and I. I saw an old friend at a bridal shower about a month ago, and she was like, "I heard about Ben getting laid off." And I was like, "Yeah..." And she was all, "You guys just can't catch a break!" I nodded thoughtfully. But like I've said before, everyone is struggling. Maybe they're just not as transparent about it as I am. Maybe that's obnoxious; I prefer it to be termed as authentic. I mean, different strokes for different folks. I don't begrudge people who like to be more private about their issues. Everyone handles things differently; I choose to be transparent. So whatever.

Anyways, it's come to the point now where, when something bad happens, I'm so used to it that it has little effect on me. When I found out about my boob having something concerning in it and needing a biopsy, I was like, "Naturally." When Gage spent all night in Bend barfing, I was like, "Yep." When he had diarrhea several times yesterday, I was like, "Mmmmm-hmmm."

And when I went jogging this morning and was also hit with...dystentery (a much more elegant name for diarrhea, in my mind, and I'm nothing if not elegant, wink, wink) when I was 2 miles away from Ben's mom's house I was like, "Well, of course."

Hapless.

So, I spent the next 45 minutes struggling to get back and not to totally poop my pants. Luckily, Chelan is situated around a lake, which means lots of marinas, which means lots of port-a-potties. See? A stroke of luck right there. Not completely hapless. I managed not to poop myself. I did have to stumble behind a small bush on the busy street surrounding Chelan at one point. It was situated on a slope, though, with a tree between me and the also very wide open parking lot below, so, um, I felt a little bit better about it. But I got some thorns in my fingers when I was scrambling back up the slope and almost fell back into my, um, bodily product. I grabbed the first branch I could. Which was thorny.

Good times, man. Good times.

I almost considered going out onto a boat dock and sticking my butt in the water. It was burning, and I knew that lake water would feel awesome. But I refrained.

It's Ben's 20-year class reunion this weekend, and I missed almost everything, which was a bummer. Get it? Bummer? Greg and Gloria have to travel to the closest temple, which is 3 hours away, two Saturdays a month, so they've been gone all day. Ben took the kids to the picnic thing while I tried to rest, but tonight I was left to try to take care of them while still violently ill myself. Of course. I didn't want Ben to miss out on the dinner part of his reunion.  While left to my own devices, Sadie, um, sharted in her pants. (I only reserve the elegant word of "dysentery" for myself. Everyone else has
diarrhea or the Hershey Squirts or sharts in their pants.). Gage sharted in his diaper and screamed and fought when I had to wipe his little red bumb and put desitin on it. Naturally.  We were watching
some show about naughty dogs on Animal Planet (which was really pissing me off, by the way. Buttheaded dogs, ripping their beds apart. Naughty dogs are NOT cute, Animal Planet. Not in the least. And then this one dude has a pet skunk - she was, like de-stinked when she was born - don't fret - but he was basically saying that he loves her more than his ex-wife or his kids. Like, they divorced over his pet skunk. That is seriously messed up. Not cute, Animal Planet. Messed UP.) and they kept showing commercials for some reality TV show about people who hunt for Bigfoot, and Dylan and Micah were so traumatized by just these commercials that they weren't going to bed for me. All while my stomach has been churning and threatening another unfortunate bout of Elegant Dysentery. Mmmmm-hmmmm.

Hapless.