It’s all good.


So you’ve had a hard day. A particularly bumpy, fire-breathing, dragon slaying, had to save the world only to have the floor fall out from under you at the last minute leaving you plummeting face first into a cesspool of sewage curbside and not a knight in shiny armor anywhere within reach to help you get up… so you let loose some seriously unladylike obscenities that frighten the small child waiting with his mother at the bus stop (who could offer to help you get up…. but doesn’t…so you give her the “you ain’t no mudder of the year award” look and huff loudly)… so you get yourself up, and instantly feel drops of rain pelting your face, you open your umbrella and it blows inside out,  just as the fourth OUT OF SERVICE streetcar passes …so you spew some more unladylike obscenities and stare at the horrible raincoat protected dry child. The slothcar finally comes so you stagger on and said small hellion child sits in front of you and engages in a freak show tantrum that makes your ears bleed and eyes roll inside out, so you clench your teeth because it is taking every ounce of restraint not to make a scary child- eating monster face at peewee… you bite your tongue, roll your eyes and mutter Tourette-like groans under your breath until you escape the streetcar named demonic with one last evil eye glare at Madonna and child….who of course follow you off the streetcar….so you quicken your pace, looking back every few steps to make sure the swat team isn’t following you until you walk smack dab into a massive recycling bin filled with empty containers that once held pickles because you can smell that horrible pickle smell and worse there’s some of that disgusting putrefying pickle juice on your hand; so you run, horrified, arms flaying, slightly hysterical, just keeping it together for one more block until you can reach safety and let the insanity loose in the privacy of your own home…only the front door is jammed again so you call it a Dickhead and plea bargain with it to just fricking open or else its destined for firewood…the third kick gets you in where the cats are performing an opus inspired by starvation as I remove my boots only to step in still warm hairball barf, as utter repulsion overcomes me I feel it seeping between my toes, hopping on the other foot to my kitchen where I collapse on the floor in fetal position, letting the cool tiles lull me back to a sense of emotional stability. Minutes…perhaps hours pass and I slowly open my eyes, returning to a sense of calm, after surviving a war.  A flicker of light catches my eye from under the fridge, I blink, and wiggle a few inches closer, now eye-to-eye with the under the fridge world, a flotsam and jetsam of crumbs, dust bunnies, forsaken cat cookies and my lost emerald ring.

Like I said, it’s all good.

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