SKIP & BILLIE JEAN

So one Saturday morning I was sleeping late.

It was the ONLY time I could sleep until 8 a.m. as opposed to having to wake my ass up at 5 a.m. every single day of the week, and let me tell you, those extra hours were absolutely sacred to me.

I was hardcore about it, too. There better be one really, really good reason to wake me up early on Saturday.

One really, really good reason.

Saturday morning. 7 a.m.

Kids (both of 'em): "Mama, Mama, get up, Skip's taking out the trash...."

Me (eyes closed): "Get. Out. Of. Here. Now."

Sondi (10 years old): "Mama, get up. Skips' taking out the trash dressed in woman clothes."

Joe (6 years old): "She ain't lying, Mama."

Me (eyes still closed): "Git your asses out of my bedroom! I'm still sleeping."

Sondi: "Mama, we SWEAR Skip's taking out the trash dressed in woman clothes."

Joe: "Swear, Mama."

Me (eyes still closed): "Oh gawd! I'm gonna whip your asses for waking me up AND for lying to me."

Kids (both of 'em): "We ain't lying, Mama."

Shit.

So I crawled out of bed, headed down the hallway (eyes still partially closed), kids trailing behind me.

Me: "You know both of you are gonna git your asses whipped for lying, don't you?"

Kids (both of 'em): "Mama, look out the window."

Arghhhhhh

I walked over to the kitchen window, pulled back the curtain, and

OMFG

Skip was hauling his trash to the dumpster decked out in full

regalia.

Oh.My.Gawd

There he was, my manly manly neighbor Skip, who ALWAYS had a 5 o'clock shadow, decked out, HEAD TO TOE, in a Billie Jean King outfit. Tennis shirt. Tennis skirt. Tennis shoes. Tennis socks (with those little white puffy balls on the back). Tennis racket slung over one shoulder. Dark curly wig. Big glasses. Trash bags in both hands with another draped on his other shoulder like a fucking purse.

Sondi: "Told you."

Joe: "Me, too."

Me:

Sondi: "Mama, does Skip play tennis?"

Joe: "Mama, does he?"

Me:

Sondi: "Skip said Hi when he walked by. I said Hi back."

Joe: "I said Hi."

Me:

Sondi: "Mama..."

Me: "I need coffee. Now. Lots of it."

Sondi: "Mama, can I take tennis lessons?"

Joe: "Me, too, Mama. Can I play tennis? I don't have to wear woman clothes, do I?"

Me: "Ohgawd, hush UP. You guys want to go to the park?"

Kids (both of 'em): "YEA!!! The park. Yes, Mama!"

Me: "Then git your asses in the car. Let's go."

Now I have to 'fess up something here, folks.

I swear I'm NOT lying.

I was 30 YEARS OLD and had NO IDEA what a cross-dresser was.

Never seen one before. Well, I might have, but I didn't know they were cross-dressing.

I SWEAR I'M NOT LYING.

Skip, his wife and their kid (who I'm pretty sure was fathered by Ronald McDonald - bright orange hair, big-ass feet) had been my neighbors for 3 years. Three utterly uneventful years.

Then one Saturday morning, for whatever reason, Skip decided to come out while TAKING THE GARBAGE OUT.

So a pattern developed. When Skip was gonna do his thing puttering around his yard in his various outfits (which, BTW, were all, with the exception of Billie Jean, old, frumpy women clothes), he always backed his truck into his driveway, as opposed to pulling it in front first, like he normally did.

Weeks passed.....

Saturday morning. 7 a.m.

Kids (both of 'em): "Mama, Mama, get up. Somebody's knocking on the door."

Me: "Shit!"

Kids (both of 'em): "We ain't lying, Mama. Get up."

Arghhhhhhh

So I stumbled down the hallway, kids trailing behind me, walked up to the front door, opened it, and there was

Yes, with a FUCKING PRICE TAG dangling from the flowery straw hat.

On Skip's head.

Me: "How-DEE!"

Minnie Skip: "We're moving. Just stopped by to say Bye."

And with that, he spun around on his Hee Haw shoes and PHFFT! He was gone.

Kids (both of 'em): "Mama, where's Skip moving to?"

Me: "Kornfield Kounty. Hey, you guys want to go to the park?"

Kids (both of 'em): "YEA!!! The park. Yes, Mama!"

Me: "Then git your asses in the car. Let's go."

Pickin' and Grinnin'

:)

© 2007 HillCountryGal

Note: More Santana. YEA! Now git your asses in the car and let's go!