The Little Things

It started Thursday afternoon. I had just picked my daughter up from daycare and my car was on empty. I could have stopped on my way to pick her up but the gas prices at the station just down the road from daycare were so cheap and my budget so tight, that I waited. While picking up my daughter I was informed that Friday was picture day. My mind scrambles as I’m trying to piece together this new information. I thought the pictures were next week. I thought I had time over the weekend to find her some clothes without stains or rips or sticker glue. Aaaarrrgh! Now I have to add a stop to the store. There better be a clearance rack.

As I process this new information, I pull into the gas station. It is immediately clear that I am not the only person who knows how cheap the gas is here. There is a line of cars and I am six cars out and on the border of the main road. I pull up so I am on the bumper of the guy in front of me to allow room for cars behind me. What pulls up behind me however, is a massive oversized truck, whose driver is obviously more important that anyone else here and demands that the seas part and allow him in. HONK! HONK! I mumble under my breath. HONK! HONK! I throw a dirty look in my rearview mirror. The honking continues until finally I roll down my window and demand to know exactly where the hell he’d like me to move?! I’m sure he had choice words for me but I had gone deaf from the honking and couldn’t hear them. The guy next to me gives me a thumbs up.

After waiting half an hour and multitudes of preschool songs to get my gas, I drag my daughter off to the store to find her picture worthy clothes. After searching through the clearance racks for clothes and several times for my daughter, we settle on a cute sweater and a couple other things she needed for the upcoming winter. I set everything on the counter and my daughter loudly announces that she needs to use the bathroom and runs off in that direction. I chase after her leaving everything behind. We finish up, ring out and leave. I return home feeling better about the next day. Until I get home and empty out the bag.

Where the frack is the sweater?!!!

I call the store. They are closed.

The next day is Friday. My alarm doesn’t go off. My coffee maker decides today is the day to screw with me. My daughter screams like I am beating her because I tell her she must take a shower with me and wash her hair for her pictures. I forget my lunch on the counter and wonder what a tuna fish sandwich will smell like at the end of the day. I am defeated.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, day.

Btw – the sandwich did not smell very good when I got home. But at least I get better gas mileage than that jackass from yesterday. 🙂


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