Never trust a heated seat

Decided to take the wife’s car to work today. Not because the cute little convertible would be top down, tunes up.


It was chilly today and I wasn’t feeling the cruisin’ in the little red soft top thing. I drove it because I failed, yet again, to put gas in my fuel guzzling V8 SUV engine. It was literally on E when I went to leave.

I had no choice really but to take her car. Call it lazy if you will but I didn’t have time to go get gas and get to work on time.

Fast forward to thr end of the day. 10 hours later. It’s dark and it’s cold and I just needed to make it 40 minutes to home.

Just 20 minutes on the freeway and 20 on back roads then I’d bein my driveway.

So I get in, I figure out where the switches and buttons are in the dark and I roll out. I remebered there are heated seats … yeah … bun warmers.

Sounded like a solid plan.

I reached into the tiny space along side the seat and pushed the button to begin the warm up count down. “Soon” … I thought to myself “I shall be toasty and warm and speeding home.”

It was a good plan. There’s just one little thing.

Her car shakes a little at high speeds. Like something might fall off it and your life could be in immediate danger. Like an explosion of parts at 75 mph and nowhere to escape. Like a go cart you built with your friends with duct tape and youthful dreams.

The heat works though. I figured it out the hard way.

While I was both hands gripping the wheel for dear life the seat was heating rapidly. To say my rear and thighs were warm would be an understatement. It was getting hot up in there. Like HOT. I was starting to worry my leggings would catch fire.

“How hot does this thing get? Wtf!”

Christmas song on the radio, something about roasting chestnuts on an open fire. I start to worry about my lady bits. I wonder if I will still need to wax if my pubic hair melts off. I’m serious. It was really, really burning down there.

All the while I can’t really lift my thighs from the flaming bucket of hot coal because that would mean taking my foot off the gas. Something I dare not do for fear the car will just fall apart right there in the road. I thought about reaching one hand down to find the itty button to turn off the hell fire but I couldn’t take my hands off the wheel. I didn’t want to release the death grip. What if the steering wheel rattled off? It could happen.

So there I was. Sweating it out to some Country Christmas on the radio, hoping that the strange smell was from the Taco Bell I left in the car at lunch and not the fat melting off my thighs. Which, let’s be real probably smells the same. I don’t have an ass and thunder thighs like this from filling up on carrot sticks. If I am ever on an island alone with a group of people they should eat me first. If you are what you eat I’m prob the first ever meat steak that tastes like freaking cheese fries .

So I finally did it. I made it to the off ramp. At the red light I found the button and turned off the seat heat. I lifted each leg and butt cheek to release the steam and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I cracked the window to let out the stench of 5 hour old taco wrappers and I made the final portion of the journey home.

Never have I ever been so glad to get out of a car. Or have a chilly butt.

Youth and a pitiful reminder it’s fleeting …

Gone are the days of youth.

Gone are the days of no worries and no care.

Nearly gone are the stepping stones of real adulthood. The fleeting ignorance of bravery and stupidity mixed in a whirlwind of being 20 something.

The aches and pains, the ever so slowly creeping crows feet. The growing desire to adult and to get it together, because the 3rd time is surely the charm.

The falling down and standing back up of being 30 something are all but over in just 7 short days.

I am about to turn 40.

I am cautious of this new decade. Afraid to see what the 2nd half of this life looks like.

What does it feel like?

Will I awake next week in a body eerily familiar of my mother? Of my Grandmother?

Will I suddenly feel the need for a closet full of vintage pastel polyester? Will I awake with a short new do’ styled with care every week in a swept up, tidy helmet of hair? Will my wild curls and love for shoes be replaced by comfort and a modest pair of loafers? Will I need to learn to play Bridge and start eating dinner at 4?

This is incredibly complicated.

I didn’t receive my “Adulting, Second Life Edition” … does anyone else have a copy?  I mean I will take anything, even if it has highlighted sections and notes.

Bonus points available for anyone who has a copy with the test answers because I for one have absolutely no idea what 40 is going to look like and I am pretty sure I am not ready for the test.