I came across this blog I wrote last April. It made me laugh.
“I was told I had to post the events I endured on Friday here. You see, I had the worst string of luck. Some people have already heard my tale. They have giggled, laughed, shook their heads, teared up and nearly peed their pants at my expense. I fail to see that much humour in my day, but if I made one person smile, it was all worth it. Also, please note, this story is all true. You just can't make this shit up. Or if you can, you have too much time on your hands. Go take up a useful hobby.
My day started out fine. I woke up after throwing the alarm clock across the room and got dressed and undressed four times before finally choosing an outfit. I also checked my email. I am an email addict. I check it a minimum of a million times a day. Yes, a million times. Alright, maybe not a million. Just 993,000 times. But who's counting? I knew which shoes I wanted to wear (4 inch, strappy, brown mary janes with the cutest little bows on them, for you nosey people out there), but couldn't remember where I had left them last. I have a bad habit of putting my stuff in unusual places so I'll remember where I put it. But the places are so weird I never remember where I put anything. Who else, but me, would put their T4 slip under a pile of hand towels in the cupboard under the bathroom sink because it's not supposed to be there? In my warped mind, it makes perfect sense. Guaranteed I will forget it is there as soon as I need it. I do strange things like this all the time. Like how I keep my alarm clock ten minutes fast in attempt to fool myself in the morning. I think I must be at my smartest in the morning, 'cause I never fall for it then. It's the rest of the day I can never get it right. Now back to my shoes. I had to turn my room upside down in order to find them. I also found one of Hercules' stashes. Two dried up Puperoni sticks, three "cookies" (dog biscuits) and four raw-hide bones. He's saving up for a rainy day, I suppose. I found four missing socks, a library book I failed to return and last year's tax return.
I rarely ever look at my speedometer while driving along the highway; unless I get stuck behind someone slow. Then I hardly ever take my eyes off the speedometer. One must know how slow they are going in order to yell at the vehicle in front of them. 90? 90? Dude, you're doing the posted speed limit! Don't you realize you're supposed to do 120 in a 90 zone? C'mon, get with the times! On Friday, everyone must have had my mentality on the road because I got to the city with tons of time to spare. As I passed a Timmy's, I thought briefly of a friend. He was big hearted and gracious enough to buy coffee for everyone in his office. Feeling all warm and mushy from his good deed, I drove myself to the closet Starbucks to get myself a latte. Forget the yahoos I work with. They can get their own darn coffee.
As I'm waiting for my latte, I play with my keys, fiddle with my purse, remember why I don't wear those shoes more often (they're a size too big and my toes were already cramped and smooched; but they shoes are just so cute, And the were on sale at 60% off, You just can't go wrong and hope the blue from your bruised toes doesn't start creeping up your foot and showing in the skin showing area of the shoe) and I guess I moved in a way my shirt didn't like. It popped open! I'm not sure what I did to piss off my shirt to deserve this, but I am sure of the group of five or six men who got a good look at my near naked breast, exposed for the entire group's glory. I was so embarrassed I was beyond red; I was purple. I swear the smirking person making my latte took his sweet time in order to make me wait forever after my public peep show. Yes, I still waited for that latte. It's a five dollar coffee, man! On a brighter note, I did get a thumbs up from on of the men. I'm not sure if it was because he approved of size of my breast, because my bra was pretty or because he thinks I actually have balls to pull that stunt on purpose. I may have been embarrassed, but those men, and all the other people who saw, had something to talk about for the rest of the day. So, if you're from the K-W area and over heard a story involving Starbucks, flashing and a pink and red heart printed bra, you now know it was about me.
At work, later in the morning, there was this hyper-active kid running all over the place. He wasn't listening to his mother, not watching where he was going, getting dirty footprints all over my lovely sofa set displays, disrupting and ripping my signs and price cards and if he were to break anything I was going to charge his mother for it. As the little Tasmanian Devil twirled around the store, I let someone else aid his mother as I got started on new price cards to replace the damaged ones. Before I knew it, the kid runs right smack dab into me. No problem there. People have been known to run each other down every once and a while. First thing to do was to make sure the kid was alright. Hmm…Bloody nose on a shocked kid's face. Looked down at my shirt and…Oh, for the love of…Bloody shirt. My first thought was at this point was: shit. My second thought was: (censored). I think I had half of the kid's blood on my shirt, or he really smeared it up good in the spilt second before I reacted. I tired to clean it up, but only ended up with a wet, bloody shirt. I couldn't go home to change seeing how I live an hour away, and my boss wouldn't let me go buy a new shirt. I think he got a kick out of seeing me covered in blood. He laughed every time he looked in my direction for the rest of the day.
For lunch that day, I decided to try the new chicken ceasar toasted sandwich from Mickey D's. If you want my opinion, and I know you do; don't waste your money. Go to Subway and get a sandwich from there instead. Don't forget to load the sucker up with pickles. Subway has the best pickles. Unless you don't like pickles. Then steer clear of them. But who doesn't like pickles? Sweet pickles, I can understand not liking. Pickles are not meant to be sweet. That's what candy is for. I'm off topic again. Back to my yucky sandwich. As I picked my way through the heavily sauced, hardly any chicken and I-think-the-cardboard-thing-is- supposed-to-be-bacon sandwich, my tongue ring came loose without my noticing. I ended up swallowing the little ball along side with a bite of the so-called sandwich. Normally, one would notice this before swallowing the ball, but given the mishaps I had already lived through, it makes sense I didn't notice. Metal is an essential part of your daily nutrition, right?
Recap time. I lost my shoes, found my shoes, wanted a latte, flashed a small group of men, got a bloody shirt and ate metal. What a great day. It's gotta get better, right?
I went to the mall to get a new tongue right. On my way back to my car, the heel of my shoe breaks! This sudden breakage threw me completely off balance causing me to fall down on my butt. It could have been worse. I could have fallen on my face. Now, just to add insult to injury, I landed in a small puddle. Damn those rain showers. So there I was; sitting in a puddle with a broken heel and a blood stained shirt (blood hidden by a jacket) with people watching me. None of these people helping me. As I try to get up, my shirt decides it still hates me and tries to pop open again. Not wanting an encore of that morning, I did my best to hold the shirt closed without looking like I was groping myself. I also made a mental note to throw that shirt out as soon as I got home.
And then, to top the day off, I went out on a date. Oh, no! Not a date! Scream; run for the hills; take cover! Oh, it's not all that bad. Read on. I met the guy at the restaurant. We got seated and ordered a couple of drinks. We started the ritual so-this-is-my-life-story part of the date (did I mention this was a first date?). As soon as the drinks came to the table, my date excused his self in a hurry, jetting off to the washroom. I enjoyed my drink, some slushy, bright blue thing and send the waiter away once. The second time the waiter came around, I was almost done my drink and worried about my date, whom had yet to return from the washroom. I double checked with the waiter that there were no windows in the washroom and I would have seen my date going by if he had indeed planned on fleeing the restaurant. I sent the waiter to go check on him. The poor guy had been barfing his guts out. When he finally emerged from the washroom he was both embarrassed and pale. My heart went out to the guy. He didn't want to mess up his chances with me by cancelling the date. I've gotten some mixed reactions out of this end of my tale. Let me straighten them out now. Yes, I'm pretty sure he was telling me the truth about being sick. No, I don't think it was because of my perfume. Yes, I'm sure of it. Love At First Glow is a lovely scent, so shut up. And lastly, I hope he wasn't snorting lines of coke the night before, or while in the washroom at the restaurant. Strangely enough, two people thought up the last one; either of them knowing each other. What type of people do they date? I'd like to know; and hear some of their stories. Back to the date,,It ended there. He needed to go home where he could puke in the privacy of his own washroom. I'd be glad to give him another shot, as long as he isn't barfing during the date again. And no, there was no goodnight kiss. Eww…Puke breath.
And that, my dear people, was my Friday.
Saturday was a lot better. California Love by Tupac came on the radio in the afternoon. I haven't heard that song in, well, only a few weeks actually. But that's not the point. It's a friggin' awesome song! It didn't matter that I was at work. I ran over to the stereo and cranked her. The windows were shaking. We have such a kick ass stereo in our store. For seven grand retail value, it should be. Don't have seven grand? You can rent the whole package for the low, low price of $75.99 a week (plus applicable taxes and other charges).
I managed, somehow, to get through April Fools day without a prank getting pulled on me. Or pulling one on someone myself. I only had one mishap too. I got my foot caught under a door and ripped off a little more than half of a toenail. It's messy, bloody and slightly sore, but it's better than Friday.”
Ah. I remember that day well. I came across that shirt the kid bled all over not too long ago. I got the blood stains out of it. I forgot I hate that shirt. Mental note…Throw that stupid shirt out. I still have those shoes. I had the heel fixed and now I wobble in them when I walk. They’re adorable shoes and I don’t want to throw them out. I haven’t worn them in over a year, but I still might some day. I’ve only worn heels once since the baby was born. It was for a very special date night with Steve. I still don’t fit into half of my clothes. I wear mostly comfy clothes. Sweats, jeans, t-shirts. So I wear running shoes when I go out. When I’m all slimmed down and wearing nicer clothing, I’ll break out those heels again. And will suffer some ankle injuries as I teach myself how to walk in five inch heels again.
Until next time…