Today at the chiropractor, the receptionist told me our balance was about $75 more than I had calculated it to be, and so I am still behind on payment. I can't figure out if the figure she gave me is our total monthly bill, in which case I have to recalulate all of our bills, again, or if we are just that behind. It's a never-ending, hated landslide, money is.
Then the crowd at the grocery store was like the mall the day after Thanksgiving. I got stuck behind this one lady on several occasions; she was so slow-moving, which sort of broke my heart. But I was in a rush, and one can only be so crafty with the dodge-and-dance before seeming rude. I finally checked out, took the bags to the car, and realized I had forgotten the holiday-themed disposable Tupperware containers I had meant to purchase for the cookies I was about to bake. I would put shiny snowman stickers on them, and they would be last-minute gifts. There was no way I could circumnavigate the need for the Tupperware, and so I hurried back into the store, flew to the Tupperware aisle, and of course she, the Immovable Lady, was hovering in the exact spot I needed to be, so that in order to get the Tupperware I had to scoot in between the woman's legs and her cart, a tight fit. I grabbed green but then caught sight of the red, just inches from her ankle. Of course there was the option to say, "Excuse me, please, sorry!" maybe even in a British accent so that I might sound especially cheery. But the surly voice inside of me just muttered screw it, and I checked out in the U-Scan-It aisle for the second time.
And when I get to the door of the house, my arms are laden with four grocery bags, two of which hold five-pound bags of all-purpose flour, my Michelin Man winter coat (it isn't so cold anymore), my leather satchel, and a 12-pack of red-and-green-frosted cupcakes that I will bring to tomorrow evening's get-together. I think that I will bang my foot on the door so that S. will come open it for me, but unfortunately, I can't even open the metal door first to get to the wood one. And of course kicking the metal door produces a much more surprising sound, so that the moment I kick there is scream-barking, a loud crash and then some spectacular swearing. S. opens the door and I meekly say, "Sorry!" and he grumbles, "It's okay," but he's not mad at me. He is mad at the f-ing dog, who in her skittishness leapt from sleeping in the office downstairs to the front door upstairs, but took the computer cables with her and thus the brand-new laptop, which went crashing from the table to the floor. And those systems are not hard to destroy, I know. Once, in great and embarassing anger, I single-fistedly destroyed the display of my own laptop. There is no way this laptop will have made it, I am sure, this expensive machine purchased just weeks ago for the sole purpose of helping S. start up with his new business, and if is it lost, then what? My mind snaps just then, and immediately, I too am screaming at the f-ing dog.
"I don't even want to look at you!" I shout, and shove her outside.
And then after cleaning the spilled Coke on the rug downstairs, I angrily wash the dishes in the kitchen sink while S. angrily works with the computer to see if it is still functional. With a little bit of fussing, it is. He comes upstairs and hugs me and I start crying, all for having screamed at the dog I love too much when it was just an accident, for having made such a dramatic entrance when I am usually so happy to come home from work, and the idea I would be so upset at the death of a computer, when the fact of the matter is, these machines are replaceable and in the grand scheme of things this disaster would not have mattered. You tell the computer company it's new and it just broke, you don't know why. They send you a new machine. You rework your projects. All is well.
And fourthly, I cry because I know for the fifth and five billionth time that it is not life's negative events that befall you but how you handle them.
Blah and blah and blah.
The poor dog gives us kisses and wags her tail, seeming to say, I know I'm a big dork, but I sure do love you!
And I think, I love you, too, you big dork, but if I never learn to prevent earthquakes and other natural disasters, man what a bad mom I'm going to make.
Good sir, do pour me a large drink.
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