Tuesday, April 13, 2010

It was a "Those Days" kind of morning...

Ok, so I had another one of "those days" yesterday. It seems like I have these days a bit more frequently than most people. I try to be positive and shove the little rain cloud in another direction.
That lasts about an hour.

I was doing some simple take-my-time grocery shopping, like I always do on Mondays, and picked up a package of shortbread cookies to look at the nutritional info on the back. I was holding the package securely (or so I led myself foolishly to believe) and would you believe those cookies did a somersault out of my hand?!
Of course you wouldn't.
You weren't there to see it.
But I'm not lying; the thing leapt from my hand and I must have looked like a complete nincompoop reaching and grabbing, fumbling over my own fingers (which had obviously morphed into a form of butter) for these cookies which were trying to spontaneously sprout wings and escape.
And it seemed like 10 minutes of the eternal hourglass slipped away as people passed gawking and giggling.
You could've charge admission to stand there and watch me perform my magical little juggling routine.
I can hear them comment now between gasping oos and awes:
"How does she do that?"
"She makes it look so easy!"
"I'm so glad we came today or we would have missed this!"
But alas, gravity stole the show and down tumbled the shortbread cookies onto the floor.
The crowd disappated in a nonclimactic shuffle of feet.
I picked up the package of cookies, which now sounded an awful lot like my crushed ego and placed them neatly back on the shelf.
(Of course I did!...I wasn't ever going to buy them. I was just curious about the nutritional info. Don't judge me, you've done the same thing.)

Moving on with my shopping, it seemed every corner I rounded there was an old lady or little kid just standing there. And after apologizing profusely for nearly mowing them down, I get stared at.
No, "It's ok, sweety."
No, "These aisles are so crowded anyway. Don't worry about it."
It's like they saw straight through me and knew I had no right being out in public today. I was a safety hazard to society.
So, upon arrival home (and not quite safe yet as I still have to make it in the house and put all my groceries away), I must have startled my greyhound because she knocked over the candle I had left burning spraying hot wax over a 3 foot diamter span of my hardwood floors. I watched helplessly as the pink wax began to harden. Piper looked sheepishly towards the backdoor for her escape into the refugee camp. I sighed and told her that I was the bad girl today for leaving the candle burning unattended.
Making my final trek back inside with apples and milk and carefully/prayerfully stepping over the wax swamp that was now my foyer, I began putting away all I had bought.
Gallon of milk...check!
Bread...not smashed!
Thing were looking up. So, I guess that's where I let my guard down.
Opening the bag of apples and tipping them into a large white bowl on my kitchen table should be fairly simple.
You'd think I'd get at least half in, right? Ah, but you have forgotten what day it is!
It is one of THOSE days and getting half the bag in is not allowed.
Apples bounced from table to chair to floor and all it seemed my brain knew how to do was reach and grab at apples randomly as they bounced back up to grabbing height. It was as if I had switched into Cartoon Network mode saying in a deep ditzy tone of voice, "Which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?", looking from one apple to the next.
I finally gave up and just closed my eyes until I no longer heard thumping or rolling noises, then surveyed the damage. 5 apples down: 2 seriously wounded, 2 in critical condition and 1 fatality.
The fatality was dissected then, donated for hunger research.

I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to just wrap myself in a little cocoon and hibernate till I emerged a more useful human being for the day. But no, I still had one more thing to do.
Mission: DINNER FOR 8.
This is pretty nonclamactic as the only upheaval was that I dropped pineapple slices on the floor; not once, not twice, not even 3 times, but 5 - FIVE! - times on the floor.
No, I did not feed those to my guests. Those were victims of 4-legged scavengers hoping and praying for some morsel to be sacrificed on their behalf.
But still, I was cooking with a little invisible force field around me motioning to kids to leave the room slowly. It took me an extra hour to cook because I took the glass measuring cups from the cupboards extra cautiously. I sliced the meat as precisely as possible. I warmed and cooked things in the microwave, but then stood back from it just in case the rumors I used to hear about microwaves giving you brain cancer was true, even just for today. I talked myself out of taking random cold showers because I was afraid of spontaneously combusting.
I survived.
And it is a new day...and it has been much better.
(Upon the ending of this post as I proofread it to Mr. Simpleton, he reminded me -through stifled laughter- that I also burnt the rolls for yesterday's dinner. And now you know why I call him Mr. Simpleton.)


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