Of course, the mere mention of spare time makes me dissolve into hysterical giggles that progress quite quickly to sobbing and screams of terror.
Not that I've got a flair for the dramatic, or anything.
A dramatic person would regale you with the tale of a sale. That little email telling me my favorite online store for eye glasses is having a 2 for $99 sale. I didn't quite believe it when I read it, and clicked on the little link thinking the extras would come in when it was time to put lenses in those suckers. Nope, lenses included. Let's throw in some free shipping, and I totally forget that I actually don't need glasses, having bought new ones just this spring. Instead, I start dreaming of the ways I could actually start coordinating what clothing I wear with the glasses on my face. And as I'm perusing various frames that qualify for this spectacular deal on glasses I don't need, I come across something that looks like a gaudy blob on my screen. I nearly peruse right on by, but something said "hey loser who doesn't need glasses, take a look at me!". Clicking on this particular frame, I am greeted with skulls. I'm not even in to skulls, but these are SPARKLING skulls. Skulls covered in rhinestones. Complete with additional colorful graphics on the stems.
Mine mine mine mine mine.
Being a 2fer sale, I of course had to peruse more, and picked a gaudy but not nearly as gaudy pair of black glasses to go with my glittery skull glasses, to put on my face that already has glasses.
There is no point to this story, other than I've been sucking back alcohol and the mention of dramatics made me think of the skull glasses. I may have to carry them with me at all times, so if things start getting dramatic, I can whip them out and switch them out with whatever other glasses happen to be sitting on my resting bitch face.
And speaking of resting bitch face, I have perfected it. Even when the screams are going on in my head. Even when I want to make a gloriously perfect flashback to the 80's gesture of "gag me with a spoon", the resting bitch face prevails. When I'm being leered at by a man who makes me want to take a hatchet to his appendages, the resting bitch face wins. Seeing shorts that look like underwear, in fact, boy short underwear is longer, and inside my head my mouth is hanging open, the resting bitch face greets you.
I only have a ten minute drive home. But ten minutes is plenty of time for a plethora of thoughts. I hissed at the random stray Kitty of the Corn crouched in the weeds. I tailgated the corn viewers. I had a brief moment of sorrow seeing a combine in one of the fields harvesting the corn, knowing that means the land of snow and ice is coming (as is heavy layers and boots, if we're going to look on the bright side). I rejoiced knowing I was going home to an empty house, and I briefly thought my teenage son knows when mommy has had a straight-jacket day because I'm completely agreeable to nearly anything that allows me to come home to an empty house and straight to the full liquor bottle. I wondered for a moment if going home to an empty house meant eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and was able to decide that warm brownies fresh out of the oven was a perfectly acceptable dinner to go with my pal Jack. I was amused at the sprinkling of rain that had held off all day until that ten minute drive home, thinking how typical because that eliminated any chance of doing yard work once I arrived. I then enjoyed a hearty laugh thinking I would actually do any yard work today, when all I cared about was putting on slouchy clothes and getting liquored up the moment I entered the house.
However, I was a good girl. Yes, no drinky poo for you until you get your little chores done. I folded laundry, scooped cat litter, emptied the dishwasher, loaded the few dishes in the sink, mixed up brownies and put them in the oven, and ripped off my layers of clothing and jewelry and got into the most unacceptable clothing I own before dropping one single ice cube into that glass. Good girl.
Sadly, I was so eager for that drink by the time I was done with all my little good girl chores that I sucked it back in nearly one gulp, poured another, and am well on my way to being a lush. All while perfecting that resting bitch face.
The only thing remaining for me is snarfing down brownies to enhance the liquor, and scrubbing myself raw in the shower. With steel wool. Because it has been the kind of week that makes me want to shower myself in bleach and then take a power grinder to myself to try and rid myself of the heinous things I have seen, touched, and experienced. Bandaging my whole body is just fine with me, since it can then be used as a barrier against whatever is to come the rest of this week.
But it no longer matters. I am pleasantly mellowed by a friend. And even if there was a problem, you'd never know it. You would just wonder what that bitchy look on my face was.
While I mentally scream.
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