Day 1: Soooo, I am going to have our marketing assistant pick you up from the airport, then I'll make you stay in the break room until I'm off five hours later, and then we'll eat steaks and drink clear-colored shots of cranberry-whiskey.
Day 2: Today I am going to leave you at my house for 18 hours while I work. You'll spend the day starving, watching my children, and meeting my mother. I'll come home with some amazing news (and a hitch-kick): MY ENERGY HAS BEEN BALANCED! Then I will pull rocks out of my bra and pocket explain how my life has forever been changed by rafiki.
Day 3: Day three will include sleep drunk me (with incredible rocks still on my person). Again, I will starve you until I get home and you get to meet my significant other. Later he will start an argument that involves accusations of me showing off for my friend. Warning signs about the energy rocks begin to surface as clarity returns.
Day 4: What I promised to be our best day yet on day four turns into a 3-hour trip to Walmart, an intervention about the devil rocks, me taking a 4 hour nap while you are entertained by aforementioned significant other, and then a less than fun trip on the new, exciting, and convenient Frontrunner to see a Sundance film about how rafiki caused a massage therapist to be repulsed by touching anyone, and of course below freezing temperatures as we wait for the 1:27 AM return train that never came, followed by an hour cab ride to Provo and going to bed at 7AM.
Day 5: Pajamas, talking, and football sounded like a dream come true until an emergency trip to Farmington was in order that included an impressive display of immaturity and humiliation, served with a side of salmon, asparagus, and sponge cake.
Day 6: So, you don't mind driving my baby to Logan, right? I mean, I only have to work for a little while .... ? Sounds like a great vacation to me! Oh first, will you stop and buy pepto for my pee butt? Great, thanks. At least it ended with delicious sushi and normal conversation, and some good shopping was involved.
If Karma survives the crash course of my life, we'll be bonded forever. If she changes her phone number or gets a no contact order, I'll understand that too.
Tomorrow we will determine a safe way to dispose of the devil rocks and I'll probably ask her to clean my house or remove an ingrown hair from my bikini line.
I survived...and I'm still commenting on this here blog...these 4 years later.
ReplyDeleteLast time this week, I was in UT...marvelling at my .49 dress and considering that I COULD, in fact, be a nanny or a stay at home mom or anything that required me to make most of my daily to-do list from pinterest inspired tid-bits.
No world conquering, no chaos-wrangling (ch-house) via the phone lines...just cooking and cleaning and mopping and coloring.
It can be done.
It may not have been THE time of my life, but hell woman, I'm only 31...(shit, I'm 31) adventures are still yet to be had.