So I’m throwing (pun intended) it back to the day an Angel saw me naked–well, half naked. Oh yeah, and I was praying. Perfect time for an angel to walk in–right?
Ok, so here’s how it went down.
The husband won a silent auction for a chance to throw out the first pitch at Angel’s Stadium.
I realize we live in Dodger territory, and my Giants loving grandparents were probably rolling around in their graves–buuuuttttt, I had to buy all the Angel’s gear I could find at Target.
Let’s go Halo! Or Halos or Angels or whatever.
We were all bursting with excitement, mostly due to the priority parking spot we were given.
Really, is there anything better than a great parking spot?
Rhetorical questions because–duh! There isn’t.
We were told to wait for an escort to come get us.
This is where it began to go down…down…doooowwwwnnnn.
As we were waiting, I could feel myself starting to get clammy and my stomach began to cramp.
I ran to the bathroom. Noah, my son, chases after me screaming, “I have to pee!”
So we both run to the bathroom.
Have you ever had to wait on a five-year-old to pee?
Yeah, take for-eeeeeee-vvvv-eeeeerrrrrr.
After a good twenty minute commode break, I felt nauseous and fought the urge to crawl up into the fetal position on the bathroom floor.
But I didn’t.
You know, germs.
I took a few cleansing breaths and made my way back to Jed and my daughter,Natalie.
I noticed Noah had a white substance running down the back of his head. Because I’m mom, I wiped it off with my hand. So, yeah, it was bird poop.
After we clean that up we finally make it to Jed and the escort waiting to take us to the field. Now, our escort was about twenty-nothing with really cute shoes on.
We were presented with credentials and took the looooong walk to the elevator. Then the looooong ride up the elevator and then then loong to the field. In reality, it probably wasn’t that long–but, dude, when your stomach is ticked–two steps is long.
We walked through the underground clubhouse and up to the field entrance. The entrance was a low yellow doorway with CAUTION written in big hard-to-miss print. There was also a man sitting next to the gate telling everyone,”Watch your head.”
So, of course, I ram my head right into it.
Standing on the field was pretty cool. The kids loved it for about five minutes. Noah touched the grass and was almost taken out by a security guard.
So hang out for awhile for Jed to throw his pitch.
My stomach began to flip and twirl and gurgle and cramp and do the Mocaraina.
Yeah, not good.
But I smiled and faked it.
We had about fifteen minutes to go when I realized that I had to GO…NOW!
I went up to our escort and said, “I am sorry but can you tell me where the restroom is?”
Her eyes got really big and she looked down to her phone “It’s upstairs and I have to escort you up there, we will miss the first pitch. Can you wait?”
“Ummmmm, no. Sorry. I can’t. I need a bathroom like right now.”
Our poor escort looked around frantically, and talked to a few people. She finally returned and informed me to follow her.
We go back down the low yellow caution doorway and into the clubhouse. She tells me that she isn’t supposed to let me in there, but there’s no way we’ll make it back in time.
At this point, I’d be happy with a trashcan and a corner.
She opened a door to a very nice bathroom clearly reserved for a more important person than myself. She closed the door behind me and I…you know. Details spared.
I was worried I might pass out so I crawled-up into the fetal position and began apologizing for every terrible thing I had ever done in my life. I promised God if he made this sickness go away I would read the Bible every day and would never watch Teen Mom or Real Housewives of Orange County ever again. I would never feed my kid McDonalds and…
With my forehead plastered on the cool ground and my naked legs curled under my stomach, a man in an Angels uniform opened the door. He entered just in enough time to hear me say, “I will never watch Teen Mom again!” Since I generally do my begging to God out loud.
So, yeah, that happened.
The man retreated just as quickly as he entered. After a few splashes of cold water I felt I could return to the field–not before placing a piece of paper in the hole of the lock allowing me to return promptly if needs be.
I walked out to the field, smacked my head again, found my family and the escort near the dugout. I stood behind Jed–probably should have told him I was there. He began warming up for his pitch. He threw his arm back and sent his fist right into my jaw(in a stadium filled with 40,000 people I am waiting for this to show up on YouTube). Everyone in our immediate surroundings came to my aid as I clutched my throbbing face. Jed of course felt stupid and was holding me tight apologizing profusely. At this point I’d been whacked in the noggin so many times I don’t even know what day it is.
We didn’t have much time to concentrate on my, what was sure to be, bruised face, because it was time to throw the first pitch. There was some sort of girl scout celebration this particular day and they allowed a girl scout to throw an honorary first pitch. The little girl scout threw a great pitch and again, being the supportive wife I am, I looked up at Jed and said “No pressure now that you get to follow a girl scout!” Haha. I thought it was funny–he did not.
For the life of me I can’t get the video to upload–but Jed threw the pitch and it went sailing over home plate and right into the Angels third base coaches glove. Yay!
The escort escorted us up to our seats. We passed the indoor batting cages and saw a few players.
Just then a guy in an Angles uniform poked his head out the door.
Not sure if it was the same guy who walked in on me–we didn’t exactly make eye contact.
So I say, “Who are you?” because I haven’t given our escort enough reason to think I’m crazy. She tells me, “That is Mike Trout! He’s the best player in the MLB. He’s young and cute and a big deal!” She was flushed faced and giddy and asked me to text her the above picture.
I then proceeded to spend the next three days with the stomach flu.