Sand in the coin slot

I was scheduled to go to the petting zoo with a friend yesterday, but at the last minute, she had to cancel, so I called my sister wife (the friend with whom I share everything except a man), and we went to a park with our kids so mine wouldn’t lose their marbles over the lack of sheep and roosters to chase around and abuse.

It was lovely. Perfect weather, fall foliage around a lake, children rolling in piles of fallen leaves. The stuff that totally fake blog entries are made of. This is not one of those blog entries. This is the blog entry in which my son grabs a double-handful of sand and puts it into my underpants.

We had gone for a little nature walk and wound up at a different area of the park, with a rock-climbing rock and a large flat rock for kids to play on. The rock-climbing rock was set in sand, presumably for safety. Three of the four kids were playing on the flat “spaceship” rock, so my friend and I took a load off on the pressure-treated 6X6 retaining wall. We are cool and sexy moms. We try not to wear mom jeans. So it is entirely possible that we were both displaying a little bit of “bottom cleavage” in our non-mom-jeans while perched on these convenient but altitudinally-challenged seats. No whale tails, just possibly a little bit of coin slot. (My, my, we have a lot of words for what happens when our jeans dip down in the back.)

My son was scraping furrows in the sand behind me. I was just happy he was quiet. He had been displaying his notorious devil-child persona that day. No one is more gleefully naughty than my son when he is in this mood. You say jump, his eyes twinkle, and he jumps into a puddle, spraying you with mud. My sister wife had described him less than an hour before as the cutest ever little Lucifer. He was in that mood. So I was just happy that he was playing sweetly and not putting banana peels on the spaceship rock or, you know, just walking up onto it and shoving the other kids off while laughing like a spawn of Satan hyena.

It was all good until I felt something cool and wet slide down my ass crack into my undies. I looked back in time to see the twinkle in tiny cute Lucifer’s eye as he released a double-handful of wet sand into the back of my pants.

I wish I could give you advice on what to do if this ever happens to you. Maybe if I hadn't stood up, I could have gotten more sand out before it, um, migrated. I don’t know. But I did stand up. And the sand… settled. Into the crotch of my panties. Like maybe half a pound of sand. In my underpants. Bugger.

You know what sucks about sand in your panties? EVERYTHING! There is nothing good about sand in your panties. Except for the facebook status you get to write about it, everything about sand in your panties effing sucks.

So I updated my facebook status to reflect the abundance of SAND IN MY EFFING UNDERPANTS and then proceeded to try to remedy the situation. Remedying the situation looked something like me shoving both hands down into my jeans and trying to tip the crotch of my panties sideways so the sand would fall out and go down my leg. Go ahead, picture it. I’ll wait. You’re welcome. And no, you’re right, it doesn't work. It does get out the bulk of the sand, but sand is still coating anything… *cough*… anything at all… um, moist.

Bugger.

You know what sucks about sand on and in everything moist in your panties? Yes, that’s right, gentle readers, effing EVERYTHING. There is absolutely nothing pleasant about sand in your va-jay.

You know what sand is? It’s dirt. You know what else it is? It’s the crap they make sandpaper out of! You do not want that on your lady bits. Trust me. I have would put a lot of weird stuff on my lady bits if someone told me it was cool or awesome. Ice. (Don’t do it. It is neither cool nor awesome. It’s just psychotically cold.) Mentholated cough drops. (Not cool!! Not awesome!! Get that burning thing off of me NOW! People actually think that feels good?!) Whipped cream. (Fun enough until the sugar gives you a raging yeast infection). The moral of this little section of our story is just don’t put weird stuff on your hoo-hah.

But you know what sucks worse than any of those things? Sand. Walking back to the car with sandpaper panties, sandpaper ass crack, sandpaper va-jay. Not cool, tiny Lucifer, definitely not awesome.

Upon reading my sand in the coin slot facebook status update, my sister revealed to the world that she has had the bizarre urge to put things into my coin slot on occasion. Apparently, I have an irresistible coin slot, and might as well have a tramp stamp with an arrow pointing down that says, “Please put random stuff in here.” I then requested that if people could not restrain themselves from putting stuff in there, that they please choose something other than sand next time. So my sister asked me to post a list of acceptable items to be placed into my coin slot. Here they are, in no particular order:

Cash

Winning lottery tickets

Individually wrapped gourmet chocolate, still in its wrapper

Bacon. OK, I know that’s gross, but for some reason I just pictured someone sliding a piece of bacon into my coin slot and I was oddly OK with it. So bacon in the coin slot is OK assuming it stays in the coin slot region and doesn’t… migrate. Who knew?

Two tickets to Book of Mormon (Imagine handing them to the ticket-taker. Heh.)

Southwest travel vouchers

Jewelry

You get the idea… This is not a complete list, but basically if you are going to be putting something in my ass crack, it had better be either expensive or delicious or both. Obviously, the list is longer and more varied for my husband, but for the rest of you, really it’s best if you just stick to cash.

Or maybe bacon.