I’d like to just go on record and state that I had to (in the words of my dear friend, Katie) “slum it” for chai tea today, because our Starbucks building fell down. It actually had some help from a vehicle, that crashed into the corner of it. Although I didn’t see why the employees couldn’t still enter the building from the unhurt front doors and make chai teas to be handed out to customers in the parking lot, they decided to just close up shop for the day. This generation of baristas has no idea what “working through challenges” means. John Wayne would’ve figured out how to deal with something like that. The community would have still had access to chai lattes in paper cups adorned with Mermaids.
These are dark times, people. I think Revelations states that there will be wars and rumors of wars and floods and earthquakes and no Starbucks in the end.
Or maybe that’s in Proverbs.
No matter. Get right with The Lord, people.
And that’s about the extent of what’s going on around here. The boy went golfing yesterday, and quit after seven holes, because his foot hurt. He has been complaining about his foot hurting for three weeks now, but listen. The boy’s tolerance for pain is nonexistent, which means that maybe his foot hurt and maybe it didn’t, and maybe my brain couldn’t take the complaining any longer. So I’ve been doing what any good mother would do and encouraging him to TAKE AN ADVIL, ALREADY and HOLD THE BABY WHILE I GO DOWNSTAIRS TO SWITCH THE LAUNDRY LOADS SO HE DOESN’T SCREAM AT THE BABY GATE!
If you’d like to attend one of my parenting workshops, by all means… sign yourself up.
Yesterday, though, when the boy quit walking the golf course after only seven holes, due to foot pain, Hubs and I kind of agreed that… well… maybe this is something we should go in to the doctor for. Our boy doesn’t “just quit” before he’s reached nine holes. Golf is his love language.
Of course, I’m sure this will result in a diagnosis of YOUR SON’S FOOT IS CRACKED RIGHT DOWN THE CENTER, which will result in a diagnosis of YOUR INSURANCE DEDUCTIBLE HASN’T BEEN MET IN 2013, SO WE’RE GONNA NEED MOST OF YOUR SAVINGS ACCOUNT HANDED OVER.
Broken Starbucks. Broken feet. What’s next?
I’ll tell you what’s next.
My bathroom needs cleaned. We were out of toilet bowl cleaner a few weeks ago, and I kept forgetting to buy it when I went to Walmart. Apparently I can remember things like GIANT BAG OF PRETZEL M&Ms and COFFEE MATE and GO AHEAD AND GET A SECOND JUG OF COFFEE MATE IN ANOTHER FLAVOR. At least I remember to get the staples into my cart. But then I’d come home every time I left Walmart, and I’d realize that we were still out of toilet bowl cleaner, because apparently I am not a responsible adult, and I’m not shoving my hand in there to clean it out the old-fashioned way, like our foremothers did.
So the toilet in my master bathroom went a while without a good scrubbing.
And then the end of May happened, and everyone knows that May is the quiet December, which comes in like a lamb and goes out like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. There are a whole lot of school-related things that happen in May. I can’t be held responsible for not remembering toilet bowl cleaner in May, when I remembered to feed my children.
So then June struck. We all heaved an enormous sigh of relief, because school was finished. We embraced Summer Vacation like a long, lost relative who has a lot of money and wants to write you into her will while she’s busy coughing with the plague. And that’s when I noticed our bathroom toilet.
Hubs pretty much summed it up by saying, “I’ve peed in worse. Of course, THE WORSE was at a truck stop. In the slums of Phoenix. But it was definitely worse.”
I even went out onto a Friendship Limb and texted Carrie a picture of the toilet in our master bathroom, after she insisted that her house just had to hang on one more day until her cleaning lady arrived. I told her there was no judgement from me, and blam! I sent her a snapshot through the picture messaging tunnels on our phones of my toilet.
I’m sure if I ever run for public office, that lone picture will resurface. I’m sure it’ll be plastered all over Facebook with the words, “She can’t even clean her toilet. How can we expect her to clean up our community?”
You know what they say. Once it’s been transmitted digitally, it will live on forever and come back to bite you in the knee.
So, without the benefit of a grande, no-water chai latte running through my veins, I’m off to scrub my bathroom down.
Y’all carry on and enjoy your Thursday. And have a happy weekend, while you’re at it. Just remember, if you live in Smaller Town, USA, the Starbucks is closed. I’d hate to be the person responsible for shutting caffeine down to an entire town.