Sunday, November 13, 2011
You'll Have Those Days
It's been a weekend.
For starters, I cashed in a massage Cory got for me last Valentine's Day. I'm a hoarder when it comes to gift certificates. I just like knowing I have them, that's all. And once I use them, well, they're gone. I can no longer day dream about them on days when Silas spills Ruby's entire bowl of cereal on the kitchen carpet and then all of his applesauce on the dining room carpet.
I need to change the subject, because I'm getting all sweaty over the true realization that I now have nothing to look forward to waiting in my wallet.
So, the massage. I took my friend Holly who was also in need of a pick-me-up. While they "got things ready" we drank tiny paper cups of tea and discussed Noah's ark. I revealed my skepticism over the ark having two of EVERY kind of animal. That just doesn't square with me. Impossible! She was more worried about the humans on the boat, what with the stench and all. I think her last words on the topic may have been something along the lines of, "After one hundred and fifty days, don't you think they were like 'Get. Me. OUT. Of. Here.'?"
Then they called us back. We were both so ready to relax. So desperate for a little quiet. "See ya later! Have fun!" I said, as she walked through her door and I headed toward mine. What we didn't know was that the two doors both led into the same room.
Through an egregious, regrettable miscommunication, we had been set up for a Couples Massage.
Lordy. There I was. There she was. There was candlelight. It was insanely awkward. Reality TV gone bad.
The massage therapists left us to change and we started cackling so loud over the whole ordeal. We are both prudes. We own it. In Holly's words, "I'm just not European enough". We ended up asking them to batten down the hatches and close the partition. They apologized profusely. We just kept laughing.
The massage was bliss. I walked out with my mashed up face and my greasy hair and I felt like I owned the world.
We had friends over for dinner - homemade pizza and punch and talk-talk-talking.
Cory and I fell into bed at midnight, just hours before my hormones kicked in and I became atrociously "unwell", as my friend Jayme would say. I've been bluesy and foggy and dizzy and grumpy all day today. I have a zit on my eyelid that makes me look like I lost a fight. It shows no sign of relenting. I never posted a picture of Ruby's first day of pre-school because I'm a horrible mother. I don't want tomorrow to be Monday. I don't want this week to be so busy. I don't want to miss my family. I don't want to think about all those forgotten pumpkins. I don't want to clean applesauce off of the dining room carpet ever again.
It's been one of those nights where every little sadness bubbled up to my surface until I unleashed the torrent on the way to Target and ended up with a dumb cry-baby headache.
Cory mostly listened then bought me a magazine and took me out for a hot chocolate and a doughnut.
I would tell you that I accidentally ordered a cake doughnut when everyone knows yeast doughnuts are way better, but that would just seem like I'm begging for a pity party.
We drove home and I felt my normal self shoving all the crud out of the way. I saw hope flicker alive again. I believed once again that my life is good. I can survive a bad day, a busy week, a beige rental and a book without an ending.
But if this zit is any bigger in the morning, all bets are off and I'll have no choice but to adorn myself in many layers of fleece, watch some mid-day television and lose myself in a vat of salsa.
To be continued...