I’m on my third box of Kleenex and at the end of my rope. I think I have nerve damage in my leg, and I’ve finalized my decision to make a list of instructions for being polite during Halloween next year and taping it to my door. Any deviation from the instructions will result in pencils and toothbrushes.
Here’s how I spent my day:
ME: Rambling around the house aimlessly and dazed. “Winstud! Winstud! Where are you, Winstud! Winstud, I’ve decided you’re a didosaur. But a didosaur that can becub idvisible. But whed you’re dot idvisible, you’re all scaly and bead. Like a didosaur. Winstud! I want to ped and hold and love you! Winstud! Cub here, please! I’ll give you chickeds …”
Winston’s collar: In the distance. “Jangle, jangle.”
ME: “Winstud! Stob leading be od!”
Sometimes I fear I waste all of my witticisms on that cat.
Oh, but I forgot my initial purpose for this blog. Here are the terrible things that happened today:
- I got a crack in my previously immaculate windshield, and it happened so fast! I was hit by a rock on my way to school, and planned to get the chip filled on my way home. But miraculously while I was learning about the power of A or whatever it was, the chip became a hideous curved crack.
- I was going to check out the state of the apartment that was recently vacated that I am supposed to be managing while dad is in Arizona, and it was locked. So now I have to go all the way to Lindon to get the keys, and I hate driving to Lindon. And they left a big ugly television, so I have to somehow find a way to carry that to my car. Maybe I’ll bribe Davey. Or some big strong man from campus. “Hey you! You have muscles, move a television for me and I’ll let you have a conversation with me and buy me dinner.” It will work.
- To cheer myself up, I visited Art City Trolley, a great local restaurant that I’ve never actually visited, and ordered food that is pretty hard to mess up. But it was not good at all. I mean, I did get there twenty minutes before they closed early for Halloween, but that doesn’t mean my French fries deserved to be
undercookedseverely undercooked and my cake cold as ice.
- I’m still sick.
- Trick-or-Treaters have bad manners.
You all know that when I post without pictures, I feel like I’m betraying you. (I don’t know who this “you” I’m referring to is, because this blog has had a whopping total of zero hits thus far.) So, here is a little present:
There are no words.