Sometimes I honestly think my life is an on-going audition for “Survivor”. And last week would have undoubtedly sealed the deal for me to be a shoe-in cast member on that show. It was as if someone was playing a cruel joke on me to see if I’d finally shatter into a billion tiny pieces. Did I break a mirror I don’t know about or did a black cat run in front of me? Cause clearly, bad luck is totally trying to get the best of me. But, miracles DO happen, cause I’m still standing on two intact legs with two intact arms to hold my Advil and my Chardonnay.
It was bad enough that the week started off with my son being ridiculously ill. But then the damn dog had to give me yet another reason to campaign against getting a dog for a pet. On Friday I took him to the vet for his pre-ball chopping bloodwork and happened to mention to the technician that his eyes looked red to me. Upon further investigation, she informed me that the jackass had pink eye — yes, pink eye! Who the hell knew that a freaking dog could get pink eye?! After struggling to keep him from jumping on the other dogs while she retrieved his $45 eyedrops, she told me that I’d have to put the drops into each eye twice a day for five days (because I don’t have anything else going on in my life but to try and pin down a fifty pound beast twice a day). I left the office with a massive headache, a leash burn on my palm, and a strong desire to hitchhike down to Mexico.
**Did I mention that my husband had been out of town all friggin’ week??!!**
But the fun didn’t end there. Oh, no sir-ee Bob, it most certainly did not! On Saturday night, I dropped my daughter off at a “sleep under” party at her friend’s house where they do all the fun things of a slumber party without the actual “slumber” part. When I went to pick her up, I could instantly tell by the look on her face that something was terribly wrong. She was pale as a ghost and covered with sweat and immediately started saying that she wanted to go home. She began crying as she put on her coat, and my motherly instinct told me that puke was in my imminent future.
I talked her into going into the half bath as all the other moms were coming to retrieve their children, and the instant I shut the door, she hurled all over the place. And the force of the hurl was so great that it caused her to pee her pants as well. The poor kid was so humiliated to have this happen in the presence of her friends, so I was trying my very best to comfort her and tell her that this happens to the best of us. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that my options for cleaning up this ginormous mess were limited to a half roll of toilet paper. I. Was. Totally. Screwed.
I could hear all the hustle and bustle of moms and kids outside the door and didn’t want my daughter to be further embarrassed, so I casually poked my head out to look for the birthday girl’s mom. I was able to quietly request some paper towels and any other cleaning supplies she might be able to provide without shining a massive spotlight on the unbelievable shit that had just gone down behind that door. I scrubbed like a madwoman as fast as I could since my daughter desperately (and justifiably) just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. I have no doubt that I probably left a splatter or two behind, but I did the best I could under the circumstances.
**By the way, you DO remember that my husband had been out of town ALL stinkin’ week, don’t you?**
So, if my thong is on backwards, my hair’s a dead ringer for Medusa, or I’m driving in the wrong lane, you’ll either sympathize with me or you can bite me. It’s been yet another week from HELL, and my limit’s been reached. I believe I’ve more than earned a trip to the spa as well as a sushi dinner, so listen up, hubby! When you finally return, you better hike up your skirt and hop in the ring cause this bad luck’s goin’ down, baby.