So of course the water meter reader would show up while all my dogs were out in the yard. I ran out to try to get them back inside or at least stop lunging at the fence and snarling but I was slipping around the dog turd covered hellscape that is my yard in flip flops and sweat pants that are 5 sizes too big and look like those Turkish trousers with the drop crotch and my sad sacks sadly braless, swinging low and comin’ for to carry absolutely no one home except my dwindling dignity. Truly between the clothes and my hair pulled up on top of my head I had to look like a derrange sumo wrestler screaming, “DUDE! IT’S OVER BY THAT OTHER TREE!! NO THE OTHER, OTHER TREE. ” above cacophonous cries of my cantankerous critters. He was very kind and tried to cover the fact that the shocking sight of me looking like the dog shepherdess from hell complete with a grumpy pack of very vocal hellhounds had sent him scurrying in the complete opposite direction from the water meter by saying that he was new to this route and so very sorry to bother me, and he would eventually “get used to it”. Although I’m pretty sure he meant get used to the sight of a portly bog witch and her bad tempered familiars more than the placement of my water meter. He did eventually stumble upon the access but I’m not convinced he could get an accurate reading with all the fearful fumbles and am pretty sure next month’s bill is gonna be a whopper.
Once again it’s been a banner week to be me. Monday we found out our boss’s father had passed away and for some bizarre reason my coworkers trusted me to order something for the funeral. Everyone knows I am not the most competent or practical person in the universe so giving me this kind of crap to do is always a bad idea. Thankfully the coworker I share an office with lent a guiding hand and instead of ordering $70 worth of fried chicken and a sympathy clown we decided on Panera bagels and pastries. I got it ordered all fine and dandy and was feeling really proud of myself until the end of the conversation when the sales person said, “thank you for your order and we’re so sorry for the loss” and me being me, I’d already checked out of the conversation mentally and instead of saying something appropriately solemn and polite like maybe, “Thank you” I had to say in my most chipper voice, “oh no problem, thanks a bunch!”. WTF? I’d just spent 10 minutes discussing with this woman what would be the most appropriate thing to send to a wake (apparently flip flop sugar cookies are not as acceptable as plain short bread cookies, who knew?) and then blew off her sympathy like Marsha Brady ordering penis cookies for a bachelorette party.
Then last night I took Donald for a walk as we are both starting to look like overstuffed sausages. I was too lazy to look very hard for walking clothes and there was a pair of Dave’s old sweat pants on top of my laundry pile so that’s what I grabbed. He’s nearly 6 feet tall and I’m barely 5 so needless to say his pants are a wee bit baggy on me which is fine while I’m putzing around but once I put my keys and phone in the pockets they started to drag just a bit. Of course Donald had to poop at the beginning of the walk and he poops something that looks like the giant mound of dinosaur droppings in Jurassic Park so I couldn’t just kick it under some bushes like I do with the smaller dogs and had to pick it up and drag it around with us for the rest of the walk. Then Donald caught the scent of something and used his 100 pounds as leverage to drag me along behind him, one hand desperately clinging to his leash and the other trying to keep my pants up while slinging around a bag of warm dog poo. Pretty sure I’m gonna end up on YouTube for that performance.
Cripes it hurts to be me sometimes.