It’s nice to know that Fate is consistent in doling out the “it just figures” crap through the years. Maybe you read about my Worst Day Ever — insurance issues, flat tires and crock pot disasters, among other minor catastrophes. These are just the latest in a long line of crap Fate throws at me when my husband is away.
There was the attack of the white moths that rose from the dead after I had swatted them and dumped them in the trash. Thousands of them. Okay, hundreds. They woke me up in the middle of the night, flapping their wings en masse, staring at me with their beady little eyes. Yes, I admit it — I had to call my mother to save my sanity. (I wrote a story about this once. Maybe I’ll post it sometime.)
There was the time a drunk driver hit our one and only car as it sat innocently parked in front of our house.
Oh, and the flying cockroaches from Filipino hell. I was trapped in the kitchen, armed with only a fly-swatter — probably the same one that didn’t kill the moths. Everywhere I turned there was another big red cockroach, watching me, playing with me, sending me over the edge. I could hear Psycho music in the background, I swear it.
There was the night I locked myself out of the house in a hostile foreign country (see above). Peering through the bars on the window, I could see the keys on the kitchen table and was desperate enough to try to talk my dog into bringing them to me. “C’mon Gus. They’re right there. Be a good girl and bring me the keys. Please, Gus. Please…”
Right, and I locked my keys in my car 50 miles from home in the same hostile foreign country. I could see them then too, but sadly, Gus was back home and couldn’t help me.
Then there was the time Gus played around with a hostile foreign frog and nearly keeled over dead, limbs stiff, mouth foaming. That night I found out the vets on base treated only the K-9 dogs. I had to find a local vet at his home. He gave Gus a shot that saved her life for the equivalent of about $10. I would have paid anything.
Ooh, and scorpions. There are always scorpions in Arizona (which, come to think of it, sometimes feels like a hostile foreign country), and they always come around when my husband is gone. Scorpions don’t die easy, you know. It takes a lot of screaming. And jumping. A ladder for when they are 10 feet up the wall. A broom. A hammer. Yeah, a hammer works.
Back to the current “it just figures” crapfest, though. I need to add:
• Late, late nights with the high school kid cramming to get all his work done by the end of the quarter, resulting in a grouchy kid and a grouchy mom. Never a happy combination.
• Late, late nights with the college kid who couldn’t be bothered to get a flu shot, even after having the flu last year, who now comes down with the flu again two days after arriving home for spring break, resulting in a sick kid and a conflicted mom — should I take care of him or go with my first instinct and make him suffer through it? (Okay, okay, I’ll take care of him.)
• Jumping hoops to get the sick child to the doctor (rather than dollar-draining Urgent Care) and more hoops to get the other child to the previously planned spring training baseball game, which efforts are completely sabotaged when he leaves his ticket at home.
• A letter from the magazine editor who wanted to buy my article saying she didn’t realize the magazine had a similar article from five years ago, so they couldn’t buy mine after all. It’s okay and I get it. But I’ve been waiting to hear, and when I finally do it just figures I have no husband around to hug me.
• Insurance and medication issues reprise, making my head explode.
No, wait. That’s the migraine.
My husband will be home today (Thursday). Thank god!
And did I think I would get out of this without a bug story? Yes. But I was wrong. A swarm of bees came buzzing around the front door yesterday, checking out the living accommodations under the eaves. Taunting me. When the exterminator arrived, they were gone.
But my guess is they’re lying in wait. Biding their time. They know my respite from the “it just figures” crapfest will be brief — my husband leaves again on Tuesday.