Some Like it Hot - and Some Just Can't Figure Out the Faucet

My day started off horrible.

One of those mornings where the best thing you could've done for yourself, and all those you may come in contact with, would be to stay home, under covers, and eat ice cream.

But I didn't. I ventured out of bed - that was my first mistake.

I got up to take a shower. Stumbling into the bathroom, I turned the knob and waited for it to heat up. And waited. And waited.

Huh.

So I turned on the sink faucet figuring I could "jump-start" the hot water tank or something. No such luck.

I tiptoed back into the bedroom and pleaded with my comatose hubby to go downstairs and check out the tank. Now, I know that he has about as much knowledge of home repair as Dahmer did about Vegetarian cuisine - but I was willing to try anything at this point to eventually equate even a lukewarm shower.

While he stumbled down the stairs, half asleep, I wondered if I could just go "skanky." Looking at my hair, sticking up in the back like a greasy alfalfa sprout and my pleasant "OFF with DEET" aroma from the Outdoor Theater I attended the previous evening - I knew that there was no way I was going to traipse into the office unnoticeably icky.

Harry reappeared in the doorway and went over to the shower. He twisted the knob and stuck in his hand.

"It's hot now." he said.

"What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"Oh." Huh? Oh. Wait a sec.

I had it on cold.

Both times.

I didn't dare tell him.

I just smiled sweetly and gave him a hug. He will never have to know the doofusness that is me.

 

Then I go to work - wearing long-sleeves in 100 degree weather and melting into a puddle of me with every step across the parking lot. My lawyer friend goes with me to Subway for lunch where I seem to have trouble communicating my sandwich needs to the "artist" that is slapping two measly pieces of cheese on to my sub. I go to get my drink at the "do-it-yourself" soda fountain. Now, I hate Diet Coke - with a passion rivaled only by Red Sox fans - I hate it - but - trying to "be healthy" does not include a 12 oz Regular Coke with every meal - so I fill 'er up.

And proceed to shoot Diet Coke down my white shirt, down one pant leg and between the toes of my Payless Sandals.

Great.

I didn't like to drink the shit, much less have it nestled between my little piggies!

Since Harry has left me again for the open road and my sister, a HUGE source of material for this here blog, is also leaving me to go "home" (in quotes to anoint it as sarcasm - you get it, right?) I figure that the next week of blogs will be filled again with the challenges of an undomesticated goddess and her excessive luck with everyday chores!

Enjoy! (uh-oh - I'm starting to sound like a box of Lean Cuisine Microwavable Dinner. Know why they tell you to "enjoy"? Because, otherwise, you wouldn't! )

Okay. I'm done with this blog.

Seriously.

Go home.

Quit looking at me.

Check back tomorrow.

I'll have more.

Promise.

Maybe.

Okay, I'll try.

Just - go away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE????

hee hee - oh! I so crack myself UP!!!