The Day Tide-To-Go Pens Saved My Life

Saturday, October 4th, 2008- 10 pm CST

"I have big news....you better pour yourself another glass of wine and sit down."

She hesitated; the hand that had been hastily drying dishes at a rapid speed suddenly slowed to a crawl.

My mother's eyes flickered with fear.

"What, are you engaged? Because you wouldn't get engaged without telling me first, right? Who is the guy? Are you engaged? You're engaged, aren't you?!"

I hastily assured her that no, I'm not engaged, because usually having a boyfriend would have to come first. She visibly relaxed at that statement, but tensed up again when she realized that she still had no idea as to what "news" meant.

A half-empty bottle of red wine beckoned to me from the bar counter, and as I poured myself another glass and retreated to the family room, I could hear my mom fumbling about the kitchen.

My aunt and uncle, who were both in on my secret, smiled at me encouragingly from the couch as I nestled down on one of my mom's custom made white high-backed chairs.

My father, perched in his broken in leather recliner, looked up from his newspaper and frowned slightly as his brow furrowed. He could sense that he would not like what I was about to say.

My mom poured herself another glass of Kendall Jackson and bounded into the family room, joining our awkward party. She sat up at the edge of the couch and looked at me with eyes the size of moons.

All four of the other people in the room stared at me with various looks. My mother's was tense and visibly shaken; my aunt and uncle's- warm and supportive; my father's stern and unyielding.

"Let me guess....you got a scholarship for graduate school!"

"...No, mom. I wish..."

My dad remained silent. As I took another huge gulp of red liquid courage, my aunt burst out:

"Actually, everyone, Kayleigh's pregnant!!!!!!!!"

As my mom's face fell in shock, my dad's newspaper actually fell, and my aunt began howling with laughter, I chose to laugh INTO the wine glass as I tried to take that fateful sip, which caused wine to go, well, everywhere.

Red wine stung my senses and blurred my vision. When I reopened my eyes, I was greeted with a crime scene.

Immediately I zoned in on the crisp white armrests of my chair. The intricate custom made fabric was littered with what looked like blood spatter. The custom hand-sewn one of a kind pillow that was resting next to my lap? Coated in crimson catastrophe.

I was also wearing a cashmere uber expensive creme colored sweater- that belonged to my mother. I looked down at my chest and cursed when I realized I looked like a murder victim.

The house flew into an uproar.

My mom lunged towards me in what seemed like slow motion. She grabbed my arm and wrenched me out of her beloved chair that cost the equivalent of half a year's worth of tuition to a private high school. She then dragged me into the kitchen.

At this point, I began babbling my apologies and began running helplessly in circles like a nettled hornet around my aunt and mother, who were rambling incoherently about what the next step should be.

My dad and uncle remained unfazed, and began chatting politics amongst themselves as if nothing had happened as the women scrambled around in a flurry of chaos.

Unfortunately for all of us, I had purposefully ensured that everyone in the house drank their weight in booze that night, in preparation for doling out my "news". I wanted everyone merry, and loose and a goose. This did not play well when three slightly drunk adults needed to figure out how to save the life of a beloved piece of furniture.

My aunt suddenly ran into the guest bedroom and pulled three Tide-to-Go pens out of her suitcase. All three of us began scrubbing feverishly; three adults coloring like Kindergartners.

There's nothing like potentially ruining your mother's prized piece of furniture AND favorite sweater right before you are about to drop a figurative "bomb" on her.

I decided to change out of my demolished sweater, leave the wine in the kitchen, and regroup in the family room.

As the fresh stains began to dry, my mom regained her composure. She then tried to guess my secret once again, but this time around it was asked in a flat voice.

"Let me guess," she quipped dryly. "You're going on vacation."

I looked up meekly and nodded. I no longer wanted to even talk about it.

"Well? Where are you going?" my dad asked in a crisp no-nonsense voice.

"...Asia?" I squeaked.

Silence. And then...

"WHEN?! Where? How?" my parents roared.

"Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam...for a few weeks...December into January...a travel group...Angkor Wat, jungles, beaches, elephant rides, orchid farms....I already paid...I'm sorry?" was all I could muster as my mom clenched her jaw and tightened her grip around her wine glass. Timing was never my thing.

I focused my attention on the now fading stains on the armrest and wished I could disappear. How could I make them understand? How could I put it into words how important this was to me?

Then suddenly my mom broke into a smile. A smile because she knows, in her heart, that I am doing everything that she never did for herself when she was my age. A smile for me, despite that:

my mom + prized white chair + coveted white sweater + red wine spills = owned.

My father turned on the TV to deflect all human interaction and grunted a response in my direction. I knew we'd have to talk about it later.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of my mom's voice saying, "Good morning, my Thailand Girl! Breakfast time!" and the scent of home-made apple cinnamon french toast wafting through the air. I smiled into my pillow.