Ever since the big, lame renovation got underway at work, Hubs and my schedules have been all out of whack.
People are noticing, y'all.
And? They're starting to talk.
Case in point...
Every Saturday afternoon, Hubs and I used to take Sophia Petrillo (my Mama's alias) to church. But because he's working his bag off on Saturdays so we can FINALLY relocate our business, he's not been able to go with us.
Apparently, said change in our weekly schedule is causing many an OLD geezer at church to speculate as to Hubby's whereabouts.
When I'm not near her, people will go up to my Mother and nosily ask, "Where is your son-in-law? I haven't seen him in a looooong time. Is he sick?" AND she'll reply, "No. He's working!" Then, after mass, we'll be in the car on our way home, and she'll say, "You know that lady that sat in front of me in church? She asked me where Paul was! She probably thinks you're getting divorced!" And I'll shrug and respond, "Who cares, Ma?." And she'll say, "I do!"
Well, this week? Things at church took a turn. And my Mama came to my rescue.
Don't frig with me, people. She'll kick your ass, too.
You see, there's this old lady (80-ish) that sits on the opposite side of the church from us. And in the past, we've heard through the grapevine that she is a psychic.
Word on the street (or in the pew or whatever) is that she's a fortune teller and people go to her house and pay her to tell them what's going to happen to them in the future.
Not my cup of tea, but whatever.
Anywho, Psychic Lady NEVER talks to me. EVER.
She'll walk by and give me a smile AND I'll smile back, but that pretty much sums up the extent of our friendly exchanges over the years.
So, after church last week, I'm standing near the back door getting ready to leave and Psychic Lady walks over to me, looks me in the eye (oooohhh...she's creepy) and demanded, "WHERE IS YOUR HUSBAND?"
Immediately, I thought Oh, no! Not another old geezer who things I'm a churchgoing whore who left her husband for George Clooney! What the frig?
But, before I could muster the same ole' answer? My Mama jumped in and rescued me.
She looked at Sheba (I don't know her name. But, that sounds like an appropriate fortune teller's name to me. No?), stared her down and said...*GET THIS, PEOPLE*...
She said, "You're the psychic. Why don't YOU tell US where he is?"
And the confrontation was OVA! Don't mess with me, dudes. My Mama's got my back. Fo shizzle.
Let's hope in the aftermath, Psychic Lady doesn't put a hex on my ass. I'll let you know if I suddenly wake up one day with a set of hairy boys or some sh*t.