D-W-I can't believe it

POONSICLE UNCOVERED

The lobby of a hotel is really not the place for personal conversations of any sort, but I was just checking in with him, thinking it would be a 5-minute pre-boarding call.

But it was not. It was a call that seem to knock the wheels of my wagon, leaving it in a ditch. My husband, as I was out of town playing with my friends, enjoyed his own birthday party with his friends way too much. He was picked up for a DWI, as he calmly explained by telling me "Last night was the worst night of my life. I only got an hour and half of sleep on a cold concrete floor."

Okay, let me get this straight: you nearly wrecked our business vehicle, put our employees in jeopardy, could have killed yourself or someone else (and my dog who was in the truck too) and I am suppose to have SYMPATHY for you because you didn't get enough REM?

"POONSICLE," I thought to myself after we hung up. It was taking me a little while to process all that he said.

Side Note: Just an hour before, at the Bathrobe Brunch of the Sweet Potato Queens Festival, a sweet little gal had been recognized by Her Majesty herself as coming up with this new word, poonsicle.

Poonsicle He that has acted in such an asinine manner as to thereby freeze himself out from any "poon" in the nearby future.

I just liked the sound of it. It sounded like someone who was a silly idiot who was so selfish as to alienate the female counterpart in his life. Silly. Idiot. Selfish. That's how I felt about him at the moment.

The temporary anti-dote to encountering your first poonsicle is hard to say; I think it is a very personal experience and hence, bears individual interpretation. For me, it meant staying comfortable, continuing the silliness of my girls-only weekend, and remaining in my current set of comfy clothes for the plane trip home. That would be my bright turquoise blue kimono, hot pink satin sash (pseudo-obi), tank top (underneath) emblazoned with a sparkle-y crown emblem, pajama pants and stacked flip-flops with white socks.

Yes, I got a few looks in the Dallas airport. Yes, the flight attendant wanted to hear about our queens and recent party. And yes, hardly anyone gave me a second glance in the Austin airport, a city whose self-induced moniker is "Keep Austin Weird").

And yes, I forgot about my poonsicle for a few hours as I remained in my happy world as a traveling Queen.