Hearts and Llamas (2 page)

Liz looked around the llama's head and gave
me a dirty look.

"I'll offend HER? What the hell is it doing
here?"

I got next to them and reached over to pet
the llama to put everyone at ease.

"Her name is Princess Sugar-Britches, and
she is your Valentine's Day present!"

Liz didn't share in the excitement that I
obviously did. She inched her way out from under Princess
Sugar-Britches stare and punched me in the arm.

"You brought a llama into the HOUSE?"

I shrugged as PSB turned around and looked
me as if to say "What's this chick's problem?"

"It's totally fine," I explained to Liz as
she paced back and forth behind the couch. "She's totally
housebroken. She'll go to the door and spit on it when she needs to
go out."

That was probably the wrong thing to tell
Liz, but it was too late to take it back. Before she could react to
the spitting statement, she let out another horrified scream and
darted to the corner of the room.

"Is there SHIT in my brand new Coach purse?
OH MY GOD! There is a steaming pile of llama shit in my purse! MY
COACH PURSE!"

I glanced over in that direction as Liz held
up the purse with the tip of one finger through the strap, as far
away from her body as possible.

"Oops."

She stalked over to PSB and held the purse
right in front of her.

"Did you take a dump in my purse? Do you
have any idea how much this thing cost me, you furry little
rat?"

I told her not to call PSB a rat, really, I
did.

The next thing I know, PSB pulls her head
back and spits right in Liz's face. Great big globs of llama spit
dripped down the front of Liz's nose.

"You did NOT just spit in my face!" Liz
yelled at her.

And since PSB obviously thought Liz didn't
get the memo the first time, she reared back and did it again,
while at the same time spreading her legs and pissing all over the
carpet by the entryway.

Liz was too busy screaming at the top of her
lungs and wiping llama gobs off of her face that she didn't notice
PSB turning around, pawing at the ground, and flaring her nostrils
angrily.

"Um, Liz, you might want to come over here
close to me, very slowly," I told her gently.

Of course Liz didn't listen. She stood right
where she was, stomped her foot, and pointed angrily at PSB. And
then, all hell broke loose.

PSB's back leg shot out and kicked a hole
right through our front door, and then she charged.

"RUN! JESUS H CHRIST, LIZ, RUN!" I screamed
as I turn and ran towards the kitchen.

Liz took off hurtling the couch and
screaming right along with me.

We flew out into the backyard, and I slammed
the door right in PSB's face.

"That doesn't sound so bad. A little shit, a
little spit, running and screaming into the night. That kind of
sounds like having a kid," Drew says with a laugh.

"When I called the handler to come back and
get her, he wasn't surprised. He said no one lasts more than an
hour. That asshat should have told me that when he dropped her off.
It would have saved me the trouble of buying a new front door, a
new coffee table, a new couch, two new windows, new carpeting, and
replacing a $400 Coach purse," Jim complains. "But man, Princess
Sugar-Britches sure was a sweetie for a few minutes there."

Lunch ends and we throw out our garbage and
make our way back out into the plant. We get to our work stations,
and as the line powers up, I wonder if Liz and Jim are on to
something. Why should I have to be so stressed about what to get
Claire? It's just like Jim said. Every year I spend a ton of time
trying to come up with the perfect gift, and every year, just when
I think I've found it and I can't be more excited, Claire seems
less than thrilled even though she tries to hide it by overacting
and gushing about it so much that even
I
start to hate what
I got her.

This year, I'm going to be smart about it.
She is so going to love me for this, and she'll never have to worry
about anything pooping in her purses.

"He what?"

"He said, and I quote, 'How about this year
you just tell me what to get you.' Can you believe that? Of all the
unromantic things I have ever heard," I complain to Jenny as I put
the last batch of Devil's Food cupcakes in the oven.

"If Drew said that to me, I'd cancel
Anal
Fridays
, I'll tell you that," she says as she hops up onto the
counter next to me and starts swinging her feet.

"Jenny, how many times do I have to tell you
that there are just some things you do not need to share with me?"
I ask her with a grimace.

"I'm so lucky with Drew. He has never bought
me something for Valentine's Day that I didn't like. Last year, he
got me a membership to a Jelly of the Month Club," she tells me
with a huge smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, but how is that something you
would
ever
like?" I question as I start piling dirty mixing
bowls in the sink.

"Do you have any idea what you can do with
that much jelly, the extra attachment from the vacuum cleaner, and
the newest DVD of
Foot Fetish Fantasies, Volume 57?"

"Jesus God no. And I never, ever want to, so
stop talking right now," I beg her as I fill the sink with hot
water and soap.

"You know, that's what Liz does for Jim. She
told me that a few weeks ago when we were getting many pettings,"
Jenny informs me.

"Did you just say
many pettings
? Do I
even want to know what you're talking about?"

Jenny sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Duh. We had our nails and toes done at the
salon. How have you never gotten a many pettings before? It's like
you live in a cave or something, Claire," she complains as she
shakes her head at me. "Anyway, Liz was telling me that she got so
tired of Jim never having a clue what to get her, she started
making a list for him. This year, he's supposed to take her to the
Cheesecake Factory for dinner and then to see a chick flick after.
That way he won't show up with an alpaca or whatever the hell that
was that shit in all her Coach purses a few years ago."

Just then, Liz walks through the door
carrying a huge box and drops it on the floor in front of
Jenny.

"Jenny, can you open this box and make sure
everything I ordered is in there?"

She hops off of the counter and begins
tearing the tape off of the box and opening the flaps
excitedly.

"Ooooooh, we used these at the movie theater
and used the extra butter—"

Liz holds up her hand and closes her eyes,
stopping Jenny mid-sentence.

"Without a running commentary of the places
you've stuck them and the condiments you used to get them
there."

Jenny looks up at Liz with a perplexed look
on her face.

"We don't use condoms, Liz, you know that.
It's like you never listen to anything I say."

Jenny huffs and continues pawing through the
box.

"So, I heard you guys discussing shitting
farm animals when I walked in. Reliving the Valentine Coach
Massacre of 2009, are we?" Liz asks as she leans against the
counter while I wash the dishes.

"Jenny told me about how you give Jim a list
every year for Valentine's Day. It sounded a little unromantic to
me, but I forgot about that whole Queen Shitty Britches or whatever
her name was."

Liz nods her head in understanding.

"I agree, it's a little unconventional, but
it's necessary so I don't smother my husband in his sleep. It
really does make for a much happier holiday all around. Plus, Jim
doesn't have to sleep out in the garage for a week, and I don't
have to soak my face in bleach to get llama germs off," she
explains with a shrug.

"You know, you could have gotten Key Lime
Disease from something like that, Liz. Llamas have these little
bugs called sticks that carry Key Lime. I saw it on Animal Planet,"
Jenny states.

"Did you maybe see it on the Food Network
instead? With Paula Dean?" I ask with a laugh.

"I think Key Lime Disease is cured with whip
cream," Liz adds with a snort.

"You guys are weird. That makes absolutely no
sense."

Jenny rolls her eyes and goes back to her sex
toy sorting while Liz reminisces fondly about the time she almost
got a delicious citrus illness, and I have to pause with the dirty
dishes because she starts sobbing uncontrollably about her favorite
Coach purse she buried in the back yard that year while she made
Jim hum
Taps
.

Maybe Liz is on to something with this idea.
Her expectations won't be through the roof because she'll know
exactly what she was getting, and it will be what she's wanted
because she had spelled it out for Jim. But the more I think it's a
good idea, the more I go back to square one and think, where's the
romance in that? Carter is amazing and I love him more than I ever
thought possible. Even though it's hit or miss sometimes because
come on, he's a guy and they really aren't the most perceptive when
it comes to knowing what to buy us girls, I still love being
surprised and hopeful when it comes to the most romantic holiday of
the year. Is it too much to ask that he just put on his thinking
cap and really concentrate on something that he knows will make me
happy?

"Hello mothers! Thank you so much for
volunteering to help out with your child's Valentine's Day class
party this year," the principal of Gavin's school announces to the
twenty or so mothers gathered in the lobby of the elementary school
a few days later.

As I stand in the corner with my arms crossed
in front of me so none of the other mothers will try and talk to
me, I glance around and wonder when the hell cupid puked all over
these people. Every single mother is wearing red from head to toe.
Red shirts, red sweaters, red jeans, red skirts, red and pink
striped knee-high socks (no, I'm not joking). Half of them have
God-awful headbands on their heads with red springy hearts or
glittery pink flowers. A few of them even light up. I look down at
my jeans and black t-shirt and shrug to myself. I may not be over
the top like these freaks of nature, but at least I've worn
something
in honor of the day. The black shirt had been a
gift from Drew when he found out I got roped into being the room
mother for Gavin's Valentine's Day party. It has a picture of a
voodoo doll on the front with pins and needles sticking out of it
all over the place. Under the doll it says: Be mine. Or else.

"When your child's class party is finished,
please make sure to sign your child out before you take him or her
home. Have a
Heart-stopping
good time ladies!" the principal
finishes.

I groan as I bend down and pick up the
Wal-Mart bag filled with enough juice boxes for the twenty-four
kids in Gavin's class and a cookie sheet full of red and pink
frosted cupcakes. I had stopped feeling inadequate years ago when I
came to these things and saw all of the Longaberger baskets decked
out in pretty little Valentine's Day liners and filled with
beautiful little bags of candy tied with perfect little bows or
flawlessly made alligators on card stock with cutesy little sayings
on them like "I'd snap at the chance to be your Valentine!" I have
a full time job and a full time family to take care of. I don't
have time to spend forty hours creating Valentines for a bunch of
ten-year-olds who will just throw them in the garbage when they get
home.

I follow the other moms down the hallway
until I come to Gavin's classroom and step inside to complete and
total anarchy. The kids had a day filled with Valentine activities
and they are obviously already hopped on enough sugar to take down
an elephant.

"Hi! Thanks for coming!" Gavin's teacher
shouts over the noise. "Sorry about this. They just exchanged
valentines and they're a little excited."