I left the house early this morning to get my weekly grocery shopping out of the way. I thought I’d outsmart the weekend shoppers and still have the assistance of my kids to drag in all the bags since they are home today.
On the way to the grocery store I whipped into McDonald’s to get a cup of Cappuccino and a Sausage McMuffin for breakfast. Um…yeah, I’d like a …damn… um, never mind. Just the cappuccino, which I managed to spill on my jeans in an inconvenient and embarrassing spot. Nice - now I can shop looking like I need to pick up a pack of Poise pads.
Does everybody in this city have the day off except my husband? Grocery store was packed again and the egg case was completely empty of cartons that had 12 whole eggs. I had to construct a couple dozen cartons from the unbroken remnants lying abandoned in the case. We must have eggs to boil. Vicki will be very unhappy if there are no deviled eggs on Sunday and Violet wants to color eggs even though she’s 9 and we don’t hide real eggs. We only use them to make deviled eggs and the dye always comes off on my hands and really who wants eggs that have a slight green or blue tint to them? Stupid eggs.
I got stuck at the light leaving the grocery store lot. There on the corner was a scraggly looking man, age unknown but probably late 30’s or early 40’s, holding a cardboard sign. Homeless. Need work. Anything helps. Of course, I got stopped exactly next to him so that he could stare at me with his accusing eyes because I am a selfish person who won’t give him even one thin dime. Every time I see a someone begging for money I remember all those expose shows where they live in a big ole house in a nice neighborhood laughing at the fools who drop money in their grubby little palms. Today, I stared right back with a Get A Job look on my face.
The girls are watching an endless parade of cooking shows on the Food Network. Of course, every show just emphasizes how yummy those meat dishes would be today. It’s still cold. A nice stew or chili would be so tasty tonight. Not freakin’ fish sticks. Fishsticks suck.
My laundry is overflowing again. Apparently when you are 16 and 17 years old it is impossible for you to put your clothes in the laundry hamper on a daily basis. No, it must be hoarded in your bedroom until you have absolutely nothing left to wear and only then will you dump it, in a huge mound, into the laundry room. The worst part of this laziness is that there is a laundry hamper in the bathroom. Right where they strip down to shower. How hard could it be to put the clothes in there? Apparently too hard. But today I say 16 & 17 year olds can wash their own laundry.
My children’s smucky little comments that they pretend are jokes are not funny. I do not have the answer as to what they can do to occupy themselves but it isn’t going to be wrestling on the furniture or tormenting siblings. No - I absolutely don’t want even one of “your peeps” to come over to help annoy me today. Stop saying “If you let me xyz, it’ll get me out of your hair” because that is clearly a lie. It will only postpone your inevitable return for a short while.
This day sucks. I clearly must have a job before summer vacation arrives.
2