Tuesday. It wasn't good. There were so many things wrong with Tuesday!
The morning was okay: good run with my Love, refreshing shower, ready and out the door on time. I felt good. And then, as I started driving to work, you know how the car doors lock as soon as you hit 15 or 20 mph? Most of mine locked, but the driver side door clicked maybe three times, and oh yeah, didn't lock. I had to figure out a way to lock it without using the key clicker thing. And I had to drive from Tulare to Visalia that day, to a sketchy part of town; I needed my door lock to work!
Ugh. I got to work, and - because my life revolves around food and when I'm going to eat next - I started thinking about lunch. I thought a Costco Polish dog sounded cheap, quick, and easy...and on my way from the meeting in Visalia back to my home office in Tulare. Perfect. Wait: do I have my Costco card? A quick check in my wallet showed that no, I don't have my Costco card. Or my AmEx. Or my work ID badge, that I needed in order to get into that meeting!
Now I couldn't think about anything else BUT where my cards were, and how I could get them in time. Driving from Tulare to Visalia takes about 25 minutes on a normal day; I was allotted 30 minutes to get there, and 30 minutes to get back. The cards HAD to be somewhere at my house, which is on the way, so I decided to make a quick stop. It would have to be quick. Aha!! The cards! They had to be in a pocket. What I wore yesterday (definitely a skirt) and whatever I wore last week to Costco.
11:00 I bolted out the door, zoomed off to my house.
11:06 I was home, and rooting around through hanging skirts and folded pants in drawers.
11:08 Found all three cards, and ran out the door.
* * * I got behind about a million little old ladies, slow cars, and red lights. Or moving vans. Or there was a cop (honestly, I don't usually speed; actually, my Love sometimes wishes I would go faster, but I'm a scared driver, and don't want to go more than three to five mph over the speed limit).* * *
11:32 I was late. LATE. (Not that kind of "late." At least, yet.) I hate being late. So embarrassing! And, I had to do the funky lock dance with my driver side door. And I chose today - of ALL days! - to wear 4" stilettos. Smart.
11:33 Picture me, RUNNING, in the heels, to the door, sweaty and lugging a bulky, coin-jangly purse. Verrrrry professional, I know.
11:34 I walked into the meeting LATE, trying to calm my breathing, and saw that the person speaking was someone that my Love works with. Pretty closely. And who is also my boss's boss's boss's boss's boss (no, I'm not kidding: five levels). Ugh, embarrassing.
12:30 I decided to apologize to this person, and decided to kind of tease her, saying we should go out for dinner-n-drinks again, and then I started saying things that I have NO idea...! WHY was I...? Who was this talking? It was an out-of-body thing, a moment in time that I wish I could've just stopped myself, but I just kept on...! Fortunately, she just nodded, smiled, gave me a hug and said goodbye. Oh please, just let me crawl under a rock! I wanna go back to bed, start all over.
12:45 Called my Love. No answer. Started considering skipping the Polish dog and going straight for the froyo instead. At least it wouldn't be the real ice cream.
12:55 My Love called me back, and said it would be good if I wanted to stop by his office (which, conveniently enough, was on my way back to my home office). I parked and as I reached the top of the stairs in the building, I saw a security guard that used to work where I used to work. He asked if I'd heard, and then he told me the story of an old coworker that had recently been arrested and is currently serving time for a very serious crime, for which he'll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life.
1:00 Deflated and defeated, and wanting more than ever to just go home and crawl under the covers, I walked to my Love's office. I verbally vomited for a few minutes, breathed, and relaxed just a bit. Nervous I was keeping him from work (busy guy!), I headed back home to get lunch, then back to my home office, where the rest of the day was - fortunately - dull and uneventful.
That day, I posted a picture on Instagram - one of me and my Love in his office. Patient man, nodding and smiling with the crazy chick. I wondered what else could've gone wrong, and was scolded for saying that, because "famous last words!"
So Wednesday, I decided I'd had enough junk this week, and wanted to try the Sonic PB & bacon milkshake. I don't usually go to Sonic; actually, it's been YEARS - maybe seven? - since I last ate at Sonic. And that time, I walked up. I've literally NEVER driven through a Sonic. I am NOT familiar with the drive-in drive-thru crap. Plus, I felt guilty even being there. Oh yeah, and because my car was in the shop, I was driving my Love's car, and I'm not used to driving it.
So I pulled up to an empty drive-in spot. Wait, there was no one on that side of the lot. Backed out, pulled to the other side. I couldn't reach the card slider thing. Wait: I didn't really want to do this. Did I? Oh...it's just once. Backed out, tried the drive-thru.
"What can I get for you today?"
"Can I get a small PB & bacon shake please?"
"Umm... umm... never mind."
And I drove away, but in the process, my foot slipped from the gas pedal, and in my rush to hit it again, the top of my foot SMACKED the back of the brake pedal. It stung, though. It REALLY hurt. Like, REALLY really!
Ugh. My own stupid clumsiness knows no bounds.