How come I got the man-version of Siri?
I don't know what my problem is today. Mondays and I never really butt heads. But this one's like the worst ever. And it's not even over! Worse, it's 4:46, which is like too early to throw your hands up in the air saying Lord you just don't care, but too late to put on some badass aviators and turn it around. It's been the kind of day you wake up kind of sick and kind of in a bad mood but no one asked so you have to go around making the best of it. And you really think you're gonna kick this sore throat thing, but the raspberry Emergen-C you try makes your ice water taste like stale fizz. Then the movie on Apple TV you decided you would sit down and watch in celebration of taking your final today wasn't even that good and the blanket on the couch was one of those throw afghans that's flimsy and doesn't even cover your feet. You're pretty sure the Pacific Ocean draft found its way to your air conditioning vent blasting at your feet because it forced you into a sweatshirt with arms that are too short and smells like last winter. You decide you're giving up on this nasty Emergen-C mixture that's not even working, so you press your glass in on the fridge dispenser to get new ice but forget to pay attention until you have an avalanche of crushed ice tumbling down your arm. If you didn't know, when crushed ice hits the floor, it shoots off in every direction and the dog comes running and everyone is sliding all over the hardwoods and licking all over the glass you set down on the floor so that you could pick up the ice. So you get a new glass and think you're really showing the fridge dispenser a thing or two when you just get water with no ice this time. After your fight with the fridge dispenser, you pick up your phone, maybe try starting up a conversation, but even the man-computer in your phone is annoying you. You wonder what has been making you so sore this whole time and look down and remember you have deep wounds scrapes on every limb of your body from face-planting in the middle of the sidewalk the other night. And it was the kind of face-plant that makes you so angry at the ground and puts a huge cry lump in your throat right there in front of everyone and makes you want to scream at it because you're so angry at it for making you trip but also angry that it makes you want to cry. Ugh! So you can't even go out on a walk because the scrapes on top of your toes make sandals little bitches to put on, and you can't wear sneakers either because that's too much shoe-to-scrape contact. So you spend the rest of the day barefoot in the backyard with a minimal-skin contact sundress and this dog you're watching. Who sometimes you mistake for a real person when you say out loud baby can you bring me the chips from in there? Then there's no response besides a collar jingle and you side-eye the empty dining room to your right pretending that didn't just happen. Man no wonder you're single.
Well hopefully you can sit down on the hardwoods, avoiding the ice puddles, of course, with the dog in your lap and laugh together about it all. And hopefully tomorrow you'll wake up enjoying the soft rub of the couch on your scraped knees and be so happy that the day will be yours again and you can get yourself a glass of crushed ice water in peace. For now, I'm going to Christmas-present wrap my feet in bandaids and take the dog up to the Kangroo for a slushie. Take that, fridge dispenser!
Here's a song:
Dog and I like lighting the ice cream flavor candle in the kitchen and dancing to this one.
Here's a song:
| Sheryl Crow - My Favorite Mistake .mp3 | ||
 | ||
 | Found at bee mp3 search engine |  |
