This past week, my husband went on his annual golf vacation with his dad, brothers, an uncle and a bunch of his dad’s friends. Each year, my mom comes to help me with the boys so I don’t have to use a week of vacation time sitting around the house, pouting that my vacation days are not spent on the golf course in Myrtle Beach. (Editor’s note: Actually, I don’t care where my vacation days are spent, as long as there might be a Channing Tatum sighting and lots of Patrón. Just sayin’.)
In our house, it’s a running joke that we are plain white rice. No Kardashian-inspired khaos, klothing lines or kakamaymie reality show krap. Which really sucks, actually, since making money for being klassless, krass and just a bit kookoo seems so easy. Based on those three kriteria alone, the Rices would totally make bank, people.
Never has our plain white Riceness been more evident than it was when my mom took the boys to the pool last Wednesday while I was at work. They convinced her that they didn’t need to wear swim shirts, even though I had left instructions for them to do so. Mom also let them apply the sun screen on each other. See how great that worked out?
For our youngest son Nick, I’m not as concerned about him getting a bit of sunburn. He tans right away.
But our oldest son, Alex? Yeah, he puts the white in white. On Friday evening, he came to me and said “I think I have a bubble on my back.” After putting together a string of profanities that would make Li’l Wayne blush, I took a look at his shoulder. Sure enough, the sunburn had blistered. He had two 1 inch in diameter bubbles on his back that were about 3/4″ high. I muffled my gag reflex, quickly ibuprofened him up, gently slathered on aloe vera after sun lotion and got a gauze pad with some first aid tape to cover the ginormous blisters in case they ruptured while he slept.
So much for plain white Rice; I actually had two fried Rices.
Oh, but we weren’t done there. The next morning when I went to change the bandage — oh, the horror. The skin had blistered even further and moved to the part that I had put the tape on. When I tried to remove the tape, it was pulling off the skin. Geez.
My husband — who was now back from his golf vacation — said to me, “Next time, you should give a little more thought to the first aid procedures you employ.” In addition to two fried Rices, I was now steamed Rice.
I replied with “Well thanks, Florence Nightingale. If you don’t like the way I handle things while you’re gone, perhaps you should stick your vacation up your ass?”.
Fried, Steamed or Sticky Rice. Care to place your order?