This morning, I just. could. not. get. out. of. bed. Yeah, it was one of those mornings. So when Ashinator came screaming up into my bedroom, we had 5 minutes to get out the door. I jumped into my jeans, pulled a shirt over my head and shoved my feet into my shoes. While I was jamming my contacts into my eyes, I told Ash to start the car. She asked where the keys were.
What do you mean, where are the keys? They should be hanging up.
Guess what? No keys hanging up. RockCrawlinChef drove last night, maybe he left them in his sweatshirt pocket. Nope. Well, maybe he put them on the bookshelf. Nope. What about his bedside stand? Nope. Kitchen table? No ma'am. Still in the ignition? Guess again.
During all of the panicked run-around looking for the keys, I noticed that Allie-bird maybe should have asked to go outside, 'cause she left a very large puddle on the living room carpet. The GunDiva was not a happy woman, but, lucky for Allie, was unarmed.
A phone call to RockCrawlinChef..."do you have my keys?"
"Oops" was the answer.
Ash arranged another ride to work and I threw a pile of paper towels down on the carpet. That's about the time that yesterday's very, very yummy lunch decided to bite back. The next two and a half hours were spent in very, very (let's call it intimate) contact with the toilet.
Finally, the demons purged, I get ready to jump into the shower. I turn on the water, wait for it to warm up, get one leg into the spray and the water changes from luke-warm to ice cold. Son of a motherless goat, we were out of propane (my step-dad hooked me up with a propane water heater a couple of years ago - it's awesome and so much cheaper than electric or natural gas). I knew that we had a full tank in the garage, but it needed to be changed.
I was muttering some of the words that the Ashinator obviously learned from me as I wrapped myself into a towel and slipped my bare feet into my obnoxious cowboy boots...
Had to give you an idea of how obnoxious they are. Imagine them coupled with a small beached whale wrapped in a tan bath sheet. Dead sexy, I'm telling you.
Still muttering those words that I maybe should not have taught my daughter, I head out to the garage, grab the new propane tank and step through the backdoor to the patio...or shall I call it the poopio? Her highness, Allie-bird, can't be bothered to go out in the snow during the winter and chose to use our patio. We knew she was doing it, but when it's buried under a couple of feet of snow, it's easy to overlook.
But guess what? The snow's gone. And that dog can shit. A lot. A lot, a lot.
I picked my way across the poopio, glad that I'd worn my shitkickers, hooked up the propane and finally took a hot shower.
The day eventually got better, but I was ready to crawl back into bed and call it a day all by 10:30 Friday morning.