Mrs. June Butterworth takes her own sweet time

I didn’t MEAN to steal breakfast, but I did.

We had a thing at work where, if you brought in cans of food for the less fortunate, you got a free breakfast that they’d ordered in from somewhere. But, see, we had all these snow days and I literally didn’t leave my house for four days, see.

Not to mention you all know how I am.

So when I got to work Wednesday, of course I forgot to bring Unfortunate Cans. Of course I did.

But then everyone kept sallying forth all morning with their breakfast plates, plates with delicious breakfast food on it, plates they deserved because they didn’t forget to bring cans. I grabbed a packet of my depressing high-fiber oatmeal® and headed to the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to have the breakfast?” my boss’s boss, fmr., asked me.

I told him I forgot to bring cans.

“Oh, I brought cans enough for both of us,” he said. “Go on down there.”

I mean, I know Gallant wouldn’t have gone on down there, but whoever said I was Gallant?

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So I brazenly walked canless into the donate-your-cans room, and took me some french toast, and I realize God pursed his lips, okay? I know. I felt it.

I never think Ima like french toast until I HAVE french toast and mother of god is it delicious.

The unfortunate would also like french toast.–God

At 11:00, I had a doctor’s appointment, which is in a very fancy building with two-story-tall ceilings. I always feel like I’m going to a soap opera doctor, although never once has my doctor du jour taken me into her office to discuss my condition from behind her desk while I have on a suit jacket and skirt.

Anyway, after my appointment, I was leaving the doctor’s office and at the same time, across the fancy hall, a very hot age-appropriate man was leaving the offices of Erectile & Dysfunction or whatever. I actually have no idea what sort of old-guy-I-could-actually-date office he was leaving.

The Matlock Fan Club headquarters.

P. Pants & Co.

The FDR Lap Blanket Boutique.

The Old Spice outlet.

The point is, we exchanged glances. I smiled at him, and then he paused and smiled at me.

“I am so appealing,” I smugged, as I sauntered down the stairs. I mean, is there no end to my charisma?

When I told this story to my mother, it was at this point that she asked, “What did you do wrong?”

I’ll tell you what I did wrong.

When I got to my car and strapped m’seat belt on, I noticed I had

SO

MUCH

SYRUP

down my shirt, so much syrup that the top and the bottom of my shirt had actually gathered together, to form a little syrup pucker. We gather together to hear the lord’s disapproval.

There was an actual FOLD of syrup gluing my shirt together.

And?

I had a syrup strip going all the way down one pant leg. A whole stripe, like I was in a ragtime band or something.

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Actual portrait of me leaving the doctor. That bottle is syrup.

So unless that man has some kind of Aunt Jemima fetish, I think I’ve blown that one.

Unfortunately,
June

53 thoughts on “Mrs. June Butterworth takes her own sweet time

  1. Loved this one!

    Your description of the syrup spillage was laugh out loud funny. As I was describing it to my daughter, I spilled something on my shirt.

    A few years ago my son was injured and had to use a wheelchair for a while. He was uncomfortable going out in public because he also had a wound vac. His sister came to visit, said we were going out, and handed him a small blanket. “Put this on your lap and pretend you are FDR!” Laughter ensued and he went out without further objections. He became a member of the FDR club.

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  2. HAHAHA! Haaaaaaaaa! Ha! I almost choked while laughing. Enjoying an unfortunate person bowl of homemade 15 bean soup.

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  3. I’m dead.

    I once had two firetrucks full of hot Atlanta firefighters show up at my house when some sort of silent fire alarm was apparently going off at my house. I was wearing a white tank top with no bra and pj pants with a hole in the crotch. Of course I was.

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  4. I am dying laughing at the syrup story. Maybe the guy likes pancakes! You should have gotten his number. Y’all could go to IHOP for your first date!

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  5. I have become THAT person who cannot get through a meal or beverage without slopping on my shirt. GODDAMMIT I just slopped my Splendid Spoon smoothie on my shirt.

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  6. I loved this post, but really pissed that no one thought to nicely point out about your stickiness…?! Wtf? I always tell people – even if I don’t know them ( I’m sure they love me) if they have their tag sticking out or ahem, something hanging out of their nose, if their fly is down – well depending on person , but mostly I do try and save them from future embarrassment. Funny funny post.

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  7. I’m glad that nothing had affixed itself to the syrup, like post-its or tissues.

    I was once talking to a tall, young man with a sexy accent and feeling good that I was still attracting these sort of men. Then a friend got my attention from across the room and pointed out that the buttons on my dress were undone and my whole bra was exposed.

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  8. After my grandmother died I had been at her house and ran home to shower and change and as I was getting out of the shower there was a knock at the door. I threw my robe on hastily and answered the door and it was a very handsome detective. Apparently there was some kind of crime in my neighborhood and he wanted to know if I had seen anything. The entire time he was talking to me he was looking me up and down and I was thinking, I am the tits in this robe…… When he left I looked down and half of my robe had caught in the belt and I was giving him full frontal down below so not so much the tits but something else entirely.

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  9. Empathizing here. My mother’s German-immigrant relatives had a Low German name for a person with syrup and other food spillage: slobberhans. I got that a lot as a child, although it really should have been slobbergretel in my case. A clumsy person was a klodhans. I gave up long ago and wear an apron at dinner now.

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  10. I can’t stop laughing – P. Pants & Co. Hilarious!!

    Don’t you think someone at your office could have mentioned the syrup? People who won’t tell you things like that just KILL me . . . and make me want to kill them. Of course, I could hire someone to tell me things like that on a daily basis.

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  11. I think you more than earned your free breakfast on that one, Unfortunate Cans or not. Now I’m just singing Creedance Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” but replacing it with “Unfortunate Cans”.

    This was just incredible. Incredible. I laughed, I cried – it had it all!

    Maybe you can use the syrup thing as an “in” with this guy if you ever run into him again! Give him a little knock on the shoulder and say, “Did you want to tell me I was covered in syrup the last time you saw me here?” Then you can make it weird and say, “Because there’s more where that came from, daddio.”

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  12. So like me. I can be counted on to slop food on myself while eating. My daughter once gave me a Tide to Go pen for this very reason.

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  13. I’m laughing so hard tears are running down my face. At least, it’s now syrup. Definitely, one for your book! Thanks for starting my day with laughter.

    Mother knows.

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  14. I laughed so hard at your sticky situation! I could actually see the syrup pucker and the gooey pinstripe down your pants as I read. Thanks for starting my morning with a big laugh!

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  15. That was a real sticky situation. Ha! Only you, June. Only you. Well, and #metoo most likely. Anytime anyone glances in my direction I instantly look down to see what I spilled this time.

    FDR Lap Blanket Boutique. DED I tell you. I am now DED.

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