Soft serve can fix almost anything.
That's my theory and I'm sticking to it. Today is the first day in three that I have not felt the need for the soothing calm of a soft serve cone. If it didn't involve putting the baby back in the car, I'd go back out for one right now. I don't think it would survive the ride up the hill, otherwise I'd have W stop and get me one on his way home.
See, I've been a bit out of sorts for the last week. Hence no witty and pithy posts. I just didn't feel like it. I still kinda don't feel like it. I have a whole list of things I need to do and just don't feel like doing. I think it started last week, after Ladies Night. Two pineapple martinis and some wine, and at 3am I found myself standing over CJ's crib, fumbling a bink back into his mouth. Ten minutes later, I was lying on the bathroom floor and thinking how cool the tile was, and that I should get another one of these bathmats. It was soft.
Ever since then, I have felt a lethargy that has led me to the rut I'm in. I check the other blogs I follow, write my comments and think I'm inspired to climb out of my ditch and do the top 5 things on my list. Then "Bones" or "NCIS" comes on and that's that.
I find the soft serve helps. I was driving home from my friend A's house when I rediscovered it. I passed a Foster's Freeze on the corner and had to turn around. I thought about that chocolate dipped cone for 2 days before I realized that McDonalds has soft serve, and that's a lot closer than driving over to A's everyday. Yes, McDonalds. Its not pretty, I know, but its working.
See, just two days ago I almost had a meltdown in the parking lot of the Mexican grocery store. When scouting a grocery store for a parking space, I'm not looking for the space closest to the door, I'm looking for the space closest to the cart rack, so I can easily get a cart to put the baby in without lugging him halfway across a sunny parking lot that is lit like we're standing on the sun. I found an empty space to the left of a silver compact, and was a quarter pulled into the space when a little man and his cart full of plastic bags stepped into the space in front of me, and brought the cart up to the silver compact. I assumed he would do the human thing - bring the cart to the rear of the compact to unload, thereby allowing me to pull the rest of the way in. But no, he pulled the cart perpendicular to the back door and stood there, taking his time to load his groceries into the back seat.
He must have read my lips, which may have said something that resembled the phrase, "Are you fucking kidding me, you rubber ducker?!?! You asshole!" (we are attempting to replace certain phrases, so the kid learns his swearing where he should- from other kids at school, not from his parents at home. Ok, we're not very successful yet). I abruptly threw the car into reverse and pulled out, having just seen another empty space on the opposite side, closest to the front door of the store, but perhaps it seemed like an angry gesture. Perhaps it offended his slow sensibilities in some way, because when I pulled into the space on the other side of the row and got out of my car, he had unloaded his cart but was standing at the hood of his car looking at me. Almost mad-dogging me, but not quite. Looking like he wanted to mad-dog me, but slightly afraid.
As he should have been. I was on the phone with W at the time, and I think my half of the conversation went something like this -
"Uh huh... uh huh... wait, honey, hang on... oh no. Oh no, you are NOT waiting for me. Seriously?!?! You have something to say?!? Then you'd better get your fucking ass over here and say it to my fucking face, you dumb rubber ducker.... honey? I'm going to have to call you right back. I'm about to cut a bitch in the parking lot."
Well, clearly, I did no such thing. I'm bad at confrontation, but that's a topic for another post. What I DID do was look back at him clearly as if to say, "Oh yeah? Come on, you got something to say?" And he looked away. But when I got CJ out of the back seat, I looked up again and he was still there. I glared at him some more, and he still did nothing. I locked the car and carried the car seat across the parking lot lane and he was still looking at me. One more glare, and since he obviously wasn't going to come tell me off for calling him a rubber ducker, I went into the store.
I decided it was God's will that soft serve soothe my soul, since directly kitty corner to the Mexican grocery store is a McDonalds. It did make me feel better as I crunched my cone on the way home, but perhaps I should find a better outlet for my energy. Then again, the cone has few calories than my Yoplait Whipped Yogurt.
Stay tuned, more ranting is sure to ensue.
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