It All Went Downhill From There

I woke up feeling pretty good.  Maggots didn't explode out of my head during the night, the bump seems to have gotten smaller, and our tax refund should be deposited tomorrow.  Today was going to be great!

The first half of it actually turned out to be pretty mediocre.  Pie and I had a snowball fight in our pajamas and slippers, which was sort of fun, but then I had to yell at her for throwing icicles at the car.  Her Barbies have seriously been going through some things, which is always good for a laugh.  Especially, when I'm not in the room and I can hear her muttering words she's not allowed to use under her breath.  I keep trying to take a video of her and her dolls, but she always catches me and stops.  There was one particularly bright spot in the day, but otherwise, nothing outstanding.

Then, things began to unravel.  I baked a cake.  It wasn't for me, it was something I was being paid to do.  I left it cooling, while I made the icing.  I went into the living room for less than five minutes, and came back to find Pie standing on her stool, face stuffed full and little chocolate crumbs all down her shirt.  Before I could yell at her, she puffed her face up as big as she could, smacked her cheeks and sent partially chewed cake raining down in my kitchen.  I've never been so pissed off at her in my life.  That stunt earned her a spanking and both of us a nap.

When we woke up from the nap, I needed to run to the store because I didn't have enough cake flour to start over.  The first store I went to was out of cake flour, so I had two choices.  Deal with Walmart (which I wasn't in the mood to do) or pay twice as much as I should at the expensive supermarket.  I paid twice as much.  The time to myself improved my mood, and I thought I could get back to having a decent day.  Wrong.

My husband chose to be an extraordinary douche over a fucking cheeseburger.  He took one bite, looked at it, and threw it on the plate, exclaiming, "This is undercooked!  I can't eat."

I offered him a whole host of suggestions--trade me, I'll put it back on the grill, I'll make you something different, I'll go get you a cheeseburger from Wendy's--but none of them were good enough.  Instead, he decided the only way to handle this outrage was to stomp around, pouting and muttering to himself.  I tried to apologize (genuinely) but that was no good either.

"You know I can't eat them like that!"  (I feel the need to point out that the burger in question was not scooting across his plate or something, it was medium well, if that.)  Then he returned to his pity party, mumbling something about how his whole day was ruined.

I gave up.  "You're right.  I did it on purpose.  I woke up this morning and thought to myself, 'Self, you know would make today absolutely full of win?  Ruining it for George!  That would be spectacular!  Now, how can I make that happen?  I've got it!  I'll undercook his cheeseburger!  That'll get 'im for sure.'  Then, I laughed to myself while I imagined how awful it would be for you."

That was not the right thing to say.  Neither of our moods improved, and when he left for work, he made it seem like kissing me goodbye was some special brand of torture, right up there with having botfly lay eggs in your head of something.  I could call him to tell him I love him.  I should call him to tell him that I love him.  But I'm not going to.  He was in a mood and he took it out on me, and that's not cool.

After he left, the plan was to get Pie in the tub, put her to bed, then relax for an hour before starting a new cake.  That was delayed because, while tearing around the house like some sort of naked crack demon, she knocked a lamp down and it fell on her foot.  She's fine, but my lamp is broken. 

Right as I finally started the bath, my phone rang.  I didn't know the number, so I let it go to voicemail.  I don't know why I checked the voicemail.  I usually wait until I get a text message informing me I can't receive any new voicemails until I delete some old ones, but for some reason, I didn't.  It was my sister-in-law.  And she sounded like she'd been crying.  Fan-fucking-tastic!  I loathe calling people and we all know how I feel about my sister-in-law, but I know she's going through a really hard time, and I'm trying to be a more compassionate human being.  I forced myself to call her back.

The first thing she wanted to know is if we would buy her a carton of cigarettes because she's out but if she doesn't pay her gas bill, her heat will be shut off.  Her mom always bought her cigarettes for her.  I guess my sister-in-law is going to have to quit smoking.  Or be cold.  That's a little more compassionate than I was striving for.

After asking for smoke money, she spent an hour telling me about how much she raked in from the memorial service.  I didn't know you're supposed to get money from memorial services, but she said it was to help defray the cost.  The really great part of that is that WE paid for it.  But, that's the level of compassion I'm shooting for, so I neglected to point it out.

Then, she started crying.  There's one thing that makes me more uncomfortable than phones, and that's crying people.  I mean, she's perfectly justified in crying, I'm sure I would be too, but I just don't know how to react to other people crying.  I never know what to say, so just keep repeating stupid things and making the whole encounter even more awkward.  This was no exception.  I really do feel bad for her, but I spent the whole time wishing she'd call one of her friends or something.  Finally one of her kids fell down the stairs and she had to go.

And that's where we're at now.  Pie's angry because she didn't get her bath, but I sort of look at that like I'd have had more time if I didn't have to start the cake over.  My head hurts and I'm just ready for today to be done.  I guess the upside is that at this very moment, in my kitchen, there's a whole chocolate cake, minus only a child-sized fistful from the middle, with my name on it!