Has She Got Control of Me

Since Blogger has been so tempermental at night lately, (emphasis on the mental) I just decided to download a photo after Stinky's basketball game, and come back and write my post after the girls go to bed, as usual. Here is a picture of Stinky at the ice skating rink. As you can see, she wears her sunglasses at night.

On Friday I was crabby. I know, I know, I say that every Friday...Or maybe every day. Last Friday, I was even more crabby than usual, because after I went running, I put a pizza in the oven and thought I'd be able to eat, (and you know how much I love to eat) but Stinky called and said her bus was about five minutes away from school and that I should come and get her right away. I gave Coadster instructions about how and when to remove the pizza from the oven, which made her very nervous because she's afraid of burning herself, and then I took off to get the great, Stinky one.

They were not five minutes away from school. We live at least a fifteen minute drive from the junior high and I sat for another fifteen after I got there. I wasn't feeling very patient anyway, and then there was that pizza to obsess about too.

When the bus finally did pull in, I saw the coach stand-up and lecture the girls for another few little whiles. I had a sudden urge to just lay on the horn and let up for a second and honk again for as long as it took. Then, because I love to imagine completely inappropriate scenarios in my head, I had a wonderful thought. What if I spent one entire day behaving like the most vile thirteen year old in the world? How satisftying would that be?

In my Freaky Friday Fantasy, when my daughters' tried to wake me up in the morning, I could roll over and say, "@!#$%*&^%$!" and try to go back to sleep until they told me that if I didn't get up and go to work, I wouldn't have enough money to go to the movies and ball games and ice skating with my friends every week. So, after I finally dragged myself out of bed, I'd go to the bathroom where I would make a horrible mess with make-up and hair straighteners and curling irons and barretts and headbands, until I was dangerously late for work and then I'd give up and look exactly the same as I did before I started. I'd try to get away with leaving my house with my butt crack and too much cleavage showing and when my daughters caught me and made me go back and change, I'd stamp my foot and say, "God! You think this is bad? You should see the other girls at my job, they all look like total prostitutes." And I would be so envious of all those other girls.

At work, I would sit at my desk and instant message my friends all day and obsessively check my Facebook, calling out, "Wooohooo! I have 297 friends now!" anytime someone accepted my new friend request. And if anyone dared to call and ask for assistance from me, I would sigh heavily before and after I picked-up and make the fingers-closing-on-and-off-my-thumb, talky-talky sign with my hand the whole time they were blabbing.

"Can you tell me who I would need to talk to about changing my major?" They might ask.

"Uh, how am I supposed to know! Who really friggin' cares?"

"I'm sorry. Am I calling the right number?"

"Duh! Does this sound like the right number? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now, go find someone else to bug. I'm busy." I would hang-up and sigh again. Then I would say loudly to no one in particular, "Oh my god! This is so boring! Seriously, I could lay down and die right now, I am that bored."

Luckily, my Fergalicious Def ringtone would go off and I'd have to use up all my minutes texting and talking to my friends on my cell phone until lunch. The afternoon would go pretty much the same, but I would chew gum very loudly while I was being rude to customers on the phone and anytime my boss gave me a project to work on, I'd say, "Whatever," and roll my eyes before I did it.

When I got home from work, I'd go straight to the television or the interenet radio station and instantly change it from whatever the girls were listening to without asking.

"What's for dinner?" I might ask my girls and then I'd say, "Gross. Ew." To whatever they answered me with. Until the girls got dinner on the table, I'd be on the computer to instant message while talking to the same friend on the phone. I'd ask each person I spoke to who they liked and then they'd tell me and ask who I liked and then we'd tell each other how ugly and weird we thought the other's crush was.

By the time I went to bed, I would be so exhausted and full of self-loathing, I'd finally be able to sleep a full eight hours and I'd never complain about my life, ever again and I would understand so much better the hell my daughters are living, that I'd spend all my waking hours cutting them slack.