There are days when your kitchen sink develops a clog and it’s a holiday weekend and 35 people are coming to your house so you run back and forth to use the guest bathroom sink while preparing the food for said guests–ignoring the fact that you will have no way to clean up after them when they leave at 3:00 a.m.
There are days when you read her and you almost wet your pants because holy crap is she funny, but then you secretly plot to steal her brain because you know you’ll never be that funny, but then you secretly thank the goddess of discount designer shoes that she walks this planet at the same time you do.
There are days when your six year-old mumbles the word “evaporate” as he’s drifting off to sleep so he can commit the new word to memory and your heart just explodes with pride, but then you remember five minutes earlier he was telling you about the “masagna” he had for dinner and you decide that he might not get that Nobel after all.
There are days when you don’t think your blogging is ever going to amount to much and then you get invited to this super-swanky, invite-only reception for the premiere of a new movie and you decide that you might not abandon your blog after all, until you get to the super-swanky, invite-only party and they play Kung Fu Fighting over and over and over again for two hours straight and there is no alcohol, so you decide that the party was secretly a punishment and you were invited because your blog sucks big black licorice-flavored turds.
There are days when your friend complains over email about all the traveling they must do over the summer and your inner bitch can be silenced no more so she sends a snide reply suggesting that the person have a terrific summer and contact her when they actually want to talk, but then your bitch rethinks her rudeness and cancels the reply before it’s sent. Still feeling pissy after the original reply is discarded, the bitch decides to send one anyway–just a bit snarkier this time–only to realize once that one is gone that they were both sent and now you just look like an idiot.
There are days when you can feel the scream begin deep in your stomach and as it rises you know that if you don’t figure out soon what your purpose in life is there is no way you’re going to prevent that scream from deafening those around you so you decide to tell your husband about it and he suggests you quash it by getting up earlier in the morning to make your children pancakes.
There are days you don’t kill your husband.
There are days when you are little and you think it would be cool to have a retainer or a cast or something neato like that and then you grow up and you trip on the sidewalk because apparently a single step down can be dicey terrain to negotiate and you break your ankle and you get a cast and then the cast comes off and your ankle still doesn’t heal and then you want to remove your leg at the knee and use the separated appendage to knock your orthopedist silly until he fixes you enough so that you can wear flip flops again, because damn it’s finally flip flop weather.
Yep. There are days.