I believe I am channeling Bridget Jones. Yes, I know she's a fictional character. But in my brain, characters are people too. So are cars. And Sleepytime Pooh. In fact, as a kid I use to feel guilty if I got a new toy that I liked more than all the others because good Mommies don't have favorites. I thought they'd all get sad! Then Toy Story debuted... and I was validated in said feelings. Before you ask, yes I've spent a lot of time in therapy.
I promise I have a point.
I am 27. I will be 28 in May. I was totally cool with this until someone at worked said "Oh! You are almost 30!" AHH! What?? Who? Me? No, I'm not. Dirty word. I cannot be "almost 30" since an "almost 30" year old would not have the evening I had last night. Okay, here goes.
I worked a double yesterday. No problem I am waitress extraordinaire by now! Busy morning, race home, walk dog, have a coffee and go back. I totally got this right?? Wrong. I could tell right away that this was gonna be a long night. I was clinging to my intelligence, but I could almost see it waving as it slipped from my grasp. "Good luck Abbi! You still have your looks!!" Thankfully I was cut early, because the very last of my brain cells left with my last table, and I successfully portrayed Lisa Kudro's character in Mad About You. I'm sorry blonde girls everywhere. I let you down. I blindly figure out my last minute duties, and then begin the process of bundling so I might not lose any fingers on the way to my car. I put my favorite turquoise hoody on with the hood up and tied under my neck. Mittens come next, so that there is no gap with my jacket. (No drafts for this girl!) Then, I zipped up my coat, buttoned on top of it, grabbed my bag, keys, parking ticket, and whatever else useless crap I have in my hands and out the door! I was daydreaming about how I was going to eat something more than a bag of frozen peas and a vegi burger. (Friday Night's Dinner) and how I might even go without the glass of wine, because really- who needs the calories?
5 minutes later I arrive at the house and realize my house key is in my inside breast pocket of my coat. Dammit. I get one mitten off, fumble with my buttons, yank on the zipper and- the zipper won't budge. I'm standing outside my front door at 10pm on a Saturday night in 10 degree weather and my zipper is stuck! "Okay, don't panic. Panic solves nothing" I tell myself. I get back in the car, take off my other mitten and proceed to pull. Nothing. When I turn my dome light on, I can see that I had zippered the coat straight up through the stupid bow I tied at my neck and got the ribbon jammed in the teeth. This was me: "thutk. Thutk. THUTK!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHA" *rip*. So much for not freaking out.
It was too harrowing an experience. So rather than dinner I had a very large glass of wine and a king sized package of Reese's cups, then passed the f*ck out. On a Saturday night, I was asleep by midnight after dosing myself in a sugar coma. Ms. Tibbs understands but Pooh was judging me I could feel it. Now its the morning after, and I feel that shame and guilt. I mean, sure... i had a little too much to drink... I could claim the chocolate seduced me... but in the end- there is only myself to blame. I told myself I would go for a very long walk this morning before work, and maybe do some damage control for my poor tortured body... but now I realize my coat is broken. So instead, I'm gonna go do that walk of shame to Macy's and buy myself a new coat.
No comments:
Post a Comment