My dad and I had a back-and-forth e-conversation this morning that had some post-able merits, so I decided to cut and paste it here. Don't hold the colorful language against me. Like the name implies, I'm manic, not perfect. Enjoy.
Dad: You should seriously consider becoming a writer...my gosh but your missives are funny! Surely with all your connections you could wind up with a weekly column bringing humor badly needed in today's world. Give it some thought.
Me: A column? Me? The pressure to be funny on a regular basis might be too much, but I am quite certain that I would never run out of material. Your confidence in me is appreciated, nonetheless.
Hmm…what would I write about today? Oh – I know: this morning.
3:30 a.m. Puppy needs to pee. She starts whining at my ear until I get up to let her out, only once the door is open, she changes her mind. We go outside. It’s cold. I sit in the chair next to the back door and say, “Pee, Libby. Go pee.” She melts into a pile of blonde fur at my feet and after 5 minutes, I’ve decided it was probably a false alarm. We go inside. The smell of dog shit at 4:10 wakes me up. Damn.
4:30 a.m. The alarm goes off. Time to go to the gym. I’m there at 5:00, pulling my weight on a lead sled around the parking lot. I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like to be a Clydesdale. Only the Clydesdales get to pull beer. And I bet they’ve snuck a few sips, too. Double damn.
6:15 a.m. I pull in to the driveway, water the flowers and the garden and then go in the house to boil noodles to make lasagna for a sick friend. I move the clothes from the washer to the dryer, feed the shit machine puppy, give Louie a snack and hop in the shower. Just as I shut the water off, there it is again. That smell. Dog shit. Damn, damn, damn.
7:30 a.m. Girls are up, and the assembly line starts: clothes, hair, teeth. Oh – and faces. You can’t leave the house without a clean face. I finish one face and move on to the next. When I’m finished, the first clean face returns with lip gloss smeared all over her mouth. And hair. And clothes. Damn, damn, damn, damn.
8:00 a.m. We’re out the door. First stop: daycare. My babies jump from the car…dolls, blankets, and cookies in hand. What? Cookies aren’t an acceptable breakfast food in your house?
8:30 a.m. Orthodontist appointment with Bug. She needs 3 tie-wires, two rubber bands, 30 minutes in the chair, and the monthly $350 installment. I write the check and make mental notes: Call Vic Bailey when I get to work. Check in with Tulsa. Check in with the boss. Write news release for Tulsa. Distribute. I’m forgetting something…girls? At daycare. Lainie? Right in front of me. Coffee pot turned off? Didn’t have time to make coffee.
The lasagna noodles are still sitting on the stove at the house. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!
