Only Me

It's been a long day.  A fantastic day, filled with all my favorite things, but a long day.  I had a story in mind, but then I thought it might be more fun to vaguely post some of the day's happenings instead.  There are blanks.  Fill them in however you wish.

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Part One

"Hey, Bean! You think you can wash me some clothes before you go?"

I eyeball the clock--I was supposed to leave five minutes ago.  Again, I enjoy my newly discovered half raised eyebrow.  "You know how to use the washer."

"Yeah, but they're from your parents.  I don't want to screw up and break them."

It takes every ounce of power I have to push the raging irritation from my voice, "I'm already running late, dear."  I mostly fail, and this comes out too thick and syrupy and he must know how badly I want to punch him in the face right now.

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Part Two

The girl in the booth--Linda, according to her name tag--narrows her eyes.  "How old is she again?"

"Oh, almost three," I nervously lie.  I am a terrible liar.  Underneath my side of the counter, my hands pinch and pull frantically at one another and tiny sweat beads pop up on my forehead.  I'm irrationally certain that she can see them.

Linda knows she's prying, but presses further.  "Oh, when's her birthday?"  She pretends this is purely conversational.

"February 17th," I lie again, this time more annoyed than anything.  I shoot her a smile that isn't really so much of a smile as it is a challenge.  Prove it isn't, my wordless mouth dares her.

She can't.

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Part Three

"Mother fucker!"  I don't mean to yell, but I'm trying to drive and I really don't have time to deal with this.

"Mumma, whatsa matter?"  I'm immediately enveloped in guilt for subjecting the child to such an outburst.  Maybe not the word, so much, but the fact that it was unexpected and to a three year old, probably scary.

"Sorry, love. I'm okay," I promise, quickly scooping as much of the evidence off of the seat and into an old peanut brittle box.  I momentarily consider why the box is there in the first place, why we can't be like normal people who throw things away when they're no longer needed.

At the next red light, I finish the task, and when I'm sure that all the tangible remnants of our covert adventure are safely tucked away into that blessed piece of trash, I let out a relieved sigh and return to the pressing matter of belting out lyrics that have no business passing from my lips.

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Part Four

"I love how all of your stories start out, 'This one time, when I was going through some things.'"

And she is frighteningly accurate.

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Part Five


"I'm a gnome!"

"How are you a gnome?"

"I have no idea.  It's like...  I don't know.  But apparently, I'm a gnome."

"Do these people even have any idea what a gnome is?"

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Epilogue

I stand at the sink for a moment, torn between making a second pot of coffee, taking a shower, and going to bed.  The day has been good, but long. Bed. But a quick shower first, I decide, content with that decision.  In a move that is so perfectly me, I drink a cup of coffee in the shower.  As the water begins turning cold, I have one final, fleeting thought:

Was my husband wearing clean clothes when I got home?

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There you go.  All of this is completely true.  Except the part where I go to bed.  I really did decide that, but it didn't happen that way.  Anyway, take it all wherever you'd like.  Also, prize for anyone who can save me the trouble of googling the difference between a buffalo and a bison.