I woke up this morning and was like, Hey what happened to feeling a little awkward? Where’d ya go? And who let in your cousin Cantankerous?
I’d rub sand paper on my knees just to feel a little awkward today. But awkward is apparently unavailable, so Cantankerous is filling in. So the little things like clothes touching my body, and blinking, are annoying me today. Excuse me clothes, I don‘t mean to be difficult, but do you have to do that all the time? Be so near me?
This morning I was in the kitchen trying to figure out what to give the girls for breakfast and I saw last night’s dirty dishes in the sink…and realized we’re almost out of milk…and then there’s lunch…and dinner…and that appointment with the arsonist to burn this mother of a house down.
It’s not like I have to forage in the woods for nuts, or trap squirrel – it’s just breakfast. They make cereal bars for people like me. For me, and the other three people like me, who become overwhelmed when too many coupons are magnetized to the fridge door or when planning a three year old’s birthday party. SCREW THE BALLOONS. God didn’t bless me with lungs to inflate latex sacs.
Whitney began screaming an hour, or so, after we tucked her into bed the other night. Her screaming came from a place so deep, and with such a force, that I could’ve sworn her toes had been sucked back into her feet. I’m not talking about the every night kind of screaming. The – I need a sip of life-sustaining water scream – or – How can you possibly expect me to play in this dim light? – kind of scream. It was way more intense. More like getting your head run over by a riding lawn mower kind of screaming.
And I was all Shit! I know! I know what’s wrong! Some horny-bastard rodent must have scurried his way into her bed and tried spooning with her Barbies. THE. HORROR. OF. IT. ALL. Or perhaps he was going to eat her; she can be quite tasty and usually smells like breakfast foods. I know, I’ve licked her.
“Whitney – where’s the mouse?” “Huh?” Sob, sob. And I’m like – “THE MOUSE!” And she’s like – “THEEERRREE’S A BUGGY ON MY PILLOW AND IT GAVE ME ITCHYS!” Are you kidding me? We moved back from Mexifuckingco, where every waking moment feels like one big menopausal hot flash and a bug on your pillow means your bedroom is lizard free, for house fly hysterics? While on topic, what in the blazes is this house fly doing here in the middle of a Wisconsin winter? Shouldn’t it be busy dying, or landing on the cat’s crap?
What happened to communing with nature? And then killing it and watching it die? Hmm?
Sure we’d had a little tequila that one night, in Mexico, after you girls had gone to bed, but look, Mommy and Daddy weren’t even afraid of a scorpion! Look how your shit-faced parents even took close-ups!
Actually, I didn’t say any of that at all. I just snuggled her tight and let her wipe her nose on my shoulder. I told her that I loved her. I told it was only a bug and she shouldn’t fret. “I mean, my word, Whitney, it’s not like a mouse crawled into your bed!”
Was that not good to say?
