It Takes A Special Kind Of Stupid….
….to fall off of one’s own office chair for no reason whatsoever.
Momma always did say I was special.
Also, my ass hurts.
Hugh and the Girl attended the annual Father/Daughter dance at the girl’s school on Friday night which left the Man-Cub and I to our own devices at home. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner which, to my shame, included processed potato flakes and mystery meat nuggets served in sectioned aluminum dishes. Then we watched trash television while cuddling on the couch.
Now, either I was feeling unusually generous or the copious amounts of preservatives in our dinner addled my brain because, when the Cub asked me to tickle his back, I complied. He didn’t even have to resort to the pouty lip and puppy-dog eyes; the two most deadly weapons in his guilt arsenal. Then, without so much as an argument, I agreed to make him an ice cream sundae topped with not one, not two but three of his favorite syrups, something previously unheard of in my home.
The only explanation I have for my actions is that the preservatives in the TV dinners had left my brain temporarily addled. Seriously; it is the only explanation.
I am also of the belief that there exists a conspiracy between the food industry and a global alliance of children determined to take over the world through the judicious use of processed carbohydrates.
You read it here, first.
Fortunately for me, the effects of the preservatives were, as I said, temporary and I was able to regain my normal capacity for denying the requests of my offspring for the remainder of the weekend.
Saturday morning, the Girl and I headed to town to help my fellow woman’s club members set up the displays for our annual holiday fund-raiser. I assisted in the assembling of two twelve foot Christmas trees while the Girl lent her mad sweeping skilz to a friend whose fully-decorated tree had not fared well during transport from her home to the event center. Luckily, she only lost two or three glass ornaments and her tree still looked fifteen times better than almost anyone else’s.
When the Girl and I were of no further use, we wandered through the event center looking at the various trees, wreaths, garlands, stockings and gift baskets that will be auctioned off later in the week. I set my sights on a centerpiece featuring a porcelain carousel that will go smashingly well with my Christmas village and the Girl was kind enough to call her father and urge him to bid on it as a gift for my birthday later this month. Here’s hoping.
We followed up the fantastically good time we were having volunteering for a good cause by hitting the Hellmouth for groceries where, as a tribute to the power of good karma, nothing unusually sucky befell us.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of housework, laundry and cooking. My father-in-law, Oscar, has been on his own this past week as his wife, Emily, has been away visiting relatives so; we invited him over for dinner last night and I cooked a meal fit for a king.
Then, I fell into bed, exhausted.
This brings us to this morning when I again fell.... on my ass while attempting to sit in my office chair. In my own defense, the chair is on wheels and the mat underneath it is unusually slick.
In the chair’s defense, I would totally roll away to escape my looming ass, too.
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