So today was one of those Jekyll/Hyde type days, where part of it went good (or good enough) and the other part…well, the other part just sucked donkeys. Big, hairy nasty donkeys. I was a little afraid to sit down and write tonight for fear the damn computer would blow up or start yelling at me “To stop all that incessant banging on my keyboard!” Banging in a typing sense, not the other kind of ‘banging’, you gutter minds. Jeez, I’m not a perv.
The morning had gotten off to a blazing start when I got to day care to drop off Wee Lass for her daily dose of edjumacatin’, and I made the mistake of simply trying to exit the car. You know, turning and putting my feet on the ground, the easy stuff. Not so fast, mein freunds, not so fast! I still don’t know what happened, but the instant I stood up, I felt a searing bolt of pain rip through my left hip joint. OOHHH man that HURT! I managed to squeak loudly instead of blurting out a curse word; didn’t want to expose the tender ears of Wee Lass to such language. Well, no more than she already has been exposed, anyway. (Purely accidental, mind you. And no F-bombs. Yet.) When I straightened up it eased off, so I hobbled over to the passenger side to let my daughter out. She was concerned enough to ask “What happened, daddy?” to which I replied “Well, sweetie, da—“ at which point she was busily engaged with her Nemo plush toy. Sigh. So much for sympathy.
I made it to work in time for 2 hours of productive activity, and then I got run over by the daily boolsheet wagon. LOOKOUT! Ooops, too late. Swimming frantically to keep my nose above the rising tide of crap, I exhaustedly hauled my carcass home, paycheck in hand. I felt like I at least had something to show for my sewer diving efforts. Now, on pay nights, it is the Gumbo Tribe ritual to amble over to our nearest drive-thru ATM and deposit the check (also known as my Validation As A Human Being. Yippee!), then venture to a neighborhood eatery for some vittles. We usually eat at one of the following:
1) The beans and cheese and rice store (Chipotle)
2) Ham pizza! (Pastablitz)
3) The chicken and French fry store (Chik-Fil-A)
Tonight, it was pizza. It was closer, there was no decisions to make, and the Spouse and I were too damned tired to deal with the play area (otherwise known as an elaborate petri dish.) So ham pizza for us all. It is also my habit to get a garden salad with my ‘za, and it was no different this fine evening. These salads come with those little green pepperoncinis, the sort of hot ones that usually float in vinegar brine. I like these peppers. Now, little green peppers that float in vinegar brine can (no surprise) soak up a lot of vinegar. A lot. To the point of pressurization. Often it is best to poke them with a fork before biting. In my fatigue, I forgot this important point.
I bit. The pepper exploded. Cold vinegar sprayed across my shirt. No big deal, until I heard a gasp from across the table. “Ow, Ow, Ow!” The Spouse had a hand on her face, pawing at her eyes and trying not to cuss. “What happened?” I asked. (I am a genius, after all. When my head isn’t up my rear end). “Vinegar in both my eyes!” she shot back in that tone usually reserved for particularly exasperating idiots. She got up and headed for the restroom to wash her hands and face. Wee Lass wanted to follow, and I told her no. She ignored me per standard operating procedure, so I was forced to chase her down the hall. She ignored my directions to return to our table again, so I was forced to pick her up and carry her.
The morning had gotten off to a blazing start when I got to day care to drop off Wee Lass for her daily dose of edjumacatin’, and I made the mistake of simply trying to exit the car. You know, turning and putting my feet on the ground, the easy stuff. Not so fast, mein freunds, not so fast! I still don’t know what happened, but the instant I stood up, I felt a searing bolt of pain rip through my left hip joint. OOHHH man that HURT! I managed to squeak loudly instead of blurting out a curse word; didn’t want to expose the tender ears of Wee Lass to such language. Well, no more than she already has been exposed, anyway. (Purely accidental, mind you. And no F-bombs. Yet.) When I straightened up it eased off, so I hobbled over to the passenger side to let my daughter out. She was concerned enough to ask “What happened, daddy?” to which I replied “Well, sweetie, da—“ at which point she was busily engaged with her Nemo plush toy. Sigh. So much for sympathy.
I made it to work in time for 2 hours of productive activity, and then I got run over by the daily boolsheet wagon. LOOKOUT! Ooops, too late. Swimming frantically to keep my nose above the rising tide of crap, I exhaustedly hauled my carcass home, paycheck in hand. I felt like I at least had something to show for my sewer diving efforts. Now, on pay nights, it is the Gumbo Tribe ritual to amble over to our nearest drive-thru ATM and deposit the check (also known as my Validation As A Human Being. Yippee!), then venture to a neighborhood eatery for some vittles. We usually eat at one of the following:
1) The beans and cheese and rice store (Chipotle)
2) Ham pizza! (Pastablitz)
3) The chicken and French fry store (Chik-Fil-A)
Tonight, it was pizza. It was closer, there was no decisions to make, and the Spouse and I were too damned tired to deal with the play area (otherwise known as an elaborate petri dish.) So ham pizza for us all. It is also my habit to get a garden salad with my ‘za, and it was no different this fine evening. These salads come with those little green pepperoncinis, the sort of hot ones that usually float in vinegar brine. I like these peppers. Now, little green peppers that float in vinegar brine can (no surprise) soak up a lot of vinegar. A lot. To the point of pressurization. Often it is best to poke them with a fork before biting. In my fatigue, I forgot this important point.
I bit. The pepper exploded. Cold vinegar sprayed across my shirt. No big deal, until I heard a gasp from across the table. “Ow, Ow, Ow!” The Spouse had a hand on her face, pawing at her eyes and trying not to cuss. “What happened?” I asked. (I am a genius, after all. When my head isn’t up my rear end). “Vinegar in both my eyes!” she shot back in that tone usually reserved for particularly exasperating idiots. She got up and headed for the restroom to wash her hands and face. Wee Lass wanted to follow, and I told her no. She ignored me per standard operating procedure, so I was forced to chase her down the hall. She ignored my directions to return to our table again, so I was forced to pick her up and carry her.
That was my third big mistake of the day. Wee Lass was in “No, daddy, no!” mode, which involves a lot of flailing. Wee Lass launched a kick at me with the unerring accuracy of a laser-guided artillery shell, which took me square in the nards. Jay-ZUS! Did that hurt! I managed to not shout an obscenity and to hang on to Wee Lass at the same time. Red-faced, groaning, and limping from the vicious aching nuts/bum hip combo, I staggered back to the booth and plopped Wee Lass down. I didn’t get too many funny looks. I hope no one thought I was up to something wrong. The spouse returned from the restroom and wondered what happened.
Funny, I never did get to finish that pepper. Now I’m going to go ice my groin.
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Ah, the kick in the junk. Nothing spells their love like that. My youngest jumped off the couch and onto my stomach this morning. Both feet. I'm still alive so I'm assuming my spleen didn't rupture.
ReplyDeleteWow ..Reading that was like a scene from the Bourne Identity. You're a damn action hero bro !!!
ReplyDelete