Wednesday, 15 May 2013

BECAUSE I SPLIT MY PANTS, MISSED MY BUS AND CRIED

NEXT TIME I SLEEP IN AND MISS MY BUS 
and split my pants, I'm not even going to bother 
trying to salvage the day. I'm going to dive 
right into the large glass of wine that 
ultimately saved my sanity yesterday.


Hundreds of loyal Whorrified readers (well, one for sure; love you, Mom!) noticed that I did not post yesterday. Allow me to bore you with the mind-numbing reasons for this fairly unimportant occurrence, will you?
Yesterday, my friends, was a horranus day from the moment I woke up. Late. As in "Holy shat I missed the bus! You call yourself an alarm?" late.

Starting your day off in stark, ice-cube-shitting panic is not pleasant. It doesn't make the day go as well as, say, a cup of Bailey's laced with coffee. There was no time for that yesterday.
Instead I pelted through the house in a naked, sweating rage, trying to find something comfortable yet work-appropriate to wear. My favourite pants beckoned, and then laughed uproariously as my ass burst out of them.

So, barely out of bed 15 minutes, already losing will to live.
Then I get to work. Hair ruined by pissing rain. Sweet, gentlemanly boss waiting for me, wearing peculiar, rictus grin that looked more like rigor mortis than an actual manifestation of mirth.
"Er ... there's been a problem," he said, blushing red as a beetroot. "
To make a long story short, I had made a big work-related booboo. Like, big. Like, ALL CAPS BIG.
And it just kept sliding from there.

So I felt like arse from the get-go and I just kept feeling arsier and arsier as the day wore on, and the only thing that kept me from going right over the edge of it was a text from my friend. You may remember her? The one I betrayed by tattling on her during a tiff with a boy?

She must have sensed my distress in that way that friends do, because she out-of-the-blue announced that she felt like driving the 90 minutes to visit me and go out for dinner.
If she had turned herself into a bottle of Grey Goose and shown up, uncapped, on my doorstep, she couldn't have pleased me more.

We went out, we had Indian food, we had a few drinks, we talked ... and before you know it, it was bedtime.
Hmm, I thought. Sleep? Or blog? Sleep? Or ... sleep?
So I slept.
And I think I made the right choice, because when I woke up today, my pants fit, I caught my train and I didn't break the Internet with stupid mistakes. And then suddenly, I felt like blogging again. Two new posts for everyone!
You're welcome, Mom.