For the past couple of days, Wednesday being the most dramatic, I have felt particularly surly. Everything found a way of irritating me (see how even now I don't take responsibility? It's everything else's fault for irritating me). I resisted the urge to post then because I was pretty sure my foul mood would be contagious through the computer screen. You would be infected simply by reading my words. But now, the things that annoyed me seem slightly funnier and I want to share.
First of all, nothing in my closet felt right for the day. Either too hot or too cold, too tight or too loose. That led to me getting grouchy about the fact that every good piece of clothing was in the gigantic Jabba the Hutt pile on my floor. And I knew I wouldn't have time to start the laundry before soccer camp and art class. Grrr. So I began Wednesday with hair, makeup, and a shirt that hated me and I hated them.
There was something so seriously wrong with me that I could not enjoy one simple pleasure. A young man at Starbuck's sweetly held the door for me and even though I said 'thank you,' I couldn't help but question in my mind, Is this a 'be-kind-to-your-elders thing'? Does he think I'm OLD? It's this damn shirt... The wait for my chai latte and breakfast sandwich seemed interminable. A woman who'd ordered after me was dominating the entire pick-up counter, directing drinks to their owners. The bacon on my breakfast sandwich was a weird color and too chewy. It was 9:30 am.
I went to Goodwill to get a clock for our PTA room. Any other time I happen to look at clocks there, I find a shelf-full of fun ones I wish I had a place for. Not so on Wednesday. They were all covered with perky strawberries or pharmaceutical logos, or they're from my grandma's living room circa 1978. My two best choices were a small silver one with a coffee cup in the middle or a lime green square with a bright pink heart. I chose the coffee cup; it actually has all twelve numbers marked. Which led me to question furiously in my mind, Why would anyone buy a clock without numbers? (Although I have a few in my own home, but that's beside the point to a lunatic). Then I saw a man in the parking lot happily carrying his Goodwill purchase - a Polaroid camera - and immediately suspected him as a pedophile.
In the car, every pointed remark between my children warranted an exasperated threat from me about losing privileges. We headed directly toward Mason's friend's house yet he asked if I was going to drop him off there; I nearly lost my mind. George Michael singing something about a monkey infuriated me. A young driver with white sunglasses (Why?? They're so horrible) tried to ease through his stop sign before I could go, and I had visions of ramming his parents' pretty car. I had become a violent shrew.
Ads for the new reality show "Age of Love" sent me over the edge. (I would put the link here, but it makes me want to kill my almost-40-year old-self). First of all, the fact that this exists as intriguing television offends my sensibilities. Secondly, Kelly Ripa's husband hosts with such appalling, ridiculous seriousness. Are they that desperate for money in their household? Doesn't she have, like, ten jobs? Who's taking care of their children? I am angry about the lives of people I don't even know.
I think I'm getting better now. I've listened to "Hey There Delilah" lots.