I'd like to apologize...for -- well, everything. I'm pretty sure my brilliant antics over the past two weeks have disrupted the orbital rotation of the planet or something. Not that I'm important, by any means, but there is just only so much futzing one can do with Karma and the cosmos and all that before everything is just -- wrong.
So, if you got up this morning and one of your IHPs were full-on MoonBat Spitting Cherries crazy. My fault.
Or, if you burned the toast which set off the smoke alarm and you opened the door to let out the smoke and the dog ran off and now you have a houseful of crying children? Yeah, that's me too.
We have the only job on the planet from which we 1) cannot be fired; and, coincidentally, 2) from which, occasionally, we (fine...ME) would like to be fired. OK, us and that guy in Greek Mythology who had to scoop poop out of the stables for all eternity. It's a close call. Some days, I'll take the poop.
Let's review the recent events that require my apology, genuflection, and possibly, a Mrs. Field's cookie basket to rectify:
- To Lefty's new teacher, I have issues. I don't like to be hugged and I don't know how to keep my mouth shut most of the time. And, you may very well know that Lefty had ELEVEN teachers last year because of
sickness bad management a rip in the time/space continuum stupiditya variety of obstacles that left us in Substitute Teacher Hell. It probably didn't mean that I needed to introduce myself and then say, "You have no plans of getting married, pregnant, sick or otherwise be absent for the whole year, right?" and then actually wait for an answer. This is one of those occasions in life where Lydia needs a flux capacitor to arrive just as I'm about to make a jackhole of myself and slap me with a sandwich. Where were you, Lydia? Where? Were? You? Oh, and even though I was the second mom in your classroom, you said the slot were filled for Room Mom. Probably a safe move on your part. Though, now that I think about it, if I had said nothing and just hugged you, that would have been strange too. Right?
- To the very nice, non-litigious man at the Coffee Shop, I'm not sure which was more astounding. My ability to find the one teensy drop of water on the floor with my heel that set me flying to the ground, or your insane Edward Cullenish super speed and strength that enabled you to suddenly appear and catch me before I went splat...and yet, sadly, a split second after I threw my hands out for something to grab on to, which meant I let go of my huge HUGE cup of coffee. Which went all over you. And your suit. On. Your. Way. To. An. Interview. I know I completely assaulted you with about ten thousand napkins. And, I'm pretty sure I was sputtering about buying you a new suit or a corvette or something. You couldn't have been nicer. Or, more eager to get away from me. I've now resorted to hoping your wife reads this blog so I can maybe send you a Cookie Basket. So, ummm, didja get the job? Fingers crossed. Yea you. I'll be going away now. Forever.
- To Lefty, Yes, I know you didn't want to give me a kiss goodbye on your first day. Which is why I planted a huge one on your forehead when I was wearing lipstick. And, no, none of your teachers told you because you looked so cute. And, I'm not sure why your friends didn't. Maybe you should be mad at them. Or, actually, didn't you go to the bathroom all day? Which means you should have needed to wash your hands, yes? And, isn't there a mirror in front of that sink? Did you not look at yourself? In which case you would have seen said offending kiss? There's a lesson here, my son: One, kiss your mom. Two, smack your friends. Three, umm, hello. Look. In. The. Mirror. You are my child after all...
- To Blue Sharpie on my desk, I left you uncapped on the classified section yesterday. You basically hemorrhaged out all over my notes. And leeched into my desk. And now you're all dried out and there's nothing I can do. I've put your cap back on, but I think I need to give up on the idea of resurrection. You are just a pen after all. Though I will commend you for your "If I'm going down, you're all coming down with me" mentality. All those notes I took at the birthday party? Gone. Which is why I loved you the best. I've moved on to Green, but it's just not the same. Farewell, my friend. *sigh*
- To McLovin, I know I've essentially stolen your favorite shirt. And that I shouldn't say "Hey! Don't wear my shirt!" when you appropriate it back. It's not like you're gonna stretch it out or anything. I mean, I wear it like it's a dress. When I convince myself that wearing that shirt, my glasses and my hair up in a tangle on a Sunday morning makes me look like an intellectual/Tina Fey/naughty librarian rather than a blind crossdressing escapee from the Nervous Hospital. In plaid.
- To Barry Manilow, SugarLand, Lady Gaga and Carrie Underwood (among others), I regularly take your lovely works and vocally disembowel them all over the inside of my car. There isn't any gift basket on earth that can make up for that torturous cacophony of geriatric-cats-trying-to-play-bagpipes-while-caught-in-a-harp that I can produce with nothing but my very own vocal cords.
And suddenly I'm in Performance Review Hell and they're consulting with each other about things upon which I can improve. Like the laundry maybe being folded instead of just heaped on their beds...and a little variety in the lunches would be appreciated, can't you think of anything besides cheese sticks and go-gurts? Charlie's mom MAKES little fruit cups, y'know?
I promise. I'll do better. Starting
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