Remember That One Day?
To describe it in three words or less: that one day. THAT ONE DAY.
“Remember that one day…?”
It could be ANY day, really.
But for storytelling purposes, we’ll name this day… Tuesday.
It’s the kind of day you decide to kick the butt of email, but it was like kicking around rubber balls in a room with no doors.
And not a padded room. Like a racquetball court. Email racquetball.
Boing. Boing. Boing.
WOMAN DOWN! WOMAN DOWN!!!
It wasn’t a baaaaaaaaaaaaad day.
It was the kind of day where you have some time in the car without kids.
You have time in the car without kids because you forgot to bring something to that one thing and had to go back home to get it.
Raise your hand if you think extra driving/running around is awesome.
::sees no one raising their hand::
Because you need that one thing, you dash home.
The day is just off enough you decide listenting to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE is a better choice than whiskey…
You know… since you are driving
and you have a meeting that night.
You are so consumed with your thoughts and so deep in your pouty, discontent, teenage-level angst and RAGE(ING) AGAINST THE MACHINE that you forget one of the kids didn’t put away the Razor scooter and…
Had you your wits about you, you’d have taken a picture of the scooter stuck in the wheel well.
MacGyver would have been proud of your Razor removal skillz.
Let’s say you have a meeting on this particular Tuesday…
And you go to meeting location, except there is no meeting.
BECAUSE THE MEETING IS ON WEDNESDAY.
But it’s a bit of time before you realize you are at the Wednesday meeting on a Tuesday and the server brings you water and gives you menus.
You are there long enough to sip on some water, but not long enough to order.
But long enough to have to say to the server, “Um. Yeah. I want to order something to eat, but can I have a few minutes? Say, 1440 more minutes?”
Were you a dog, you’d have left with your tail between your legs.
However, since you/me/we are not dogs… we leave with our shoulders hunched ever so much.
Part shame. But mostly a physical manifestation of defeat.
Sure, you could have stayed. Eaten a yummy salad. Fish tacos… But all that eating alone just might have done a girl in.
On the other hand… there was a full bar…
But instead of the whiskey… you go home.
Read: someone had to tell the kids about the scooter.
Peace and Sparkles!
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