The Life and Times of Florence Knitingale

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

It is a Good Day

I know it is a good day, because when I came home there was nothing dead in the garage. Neither was there anything in the garage that I WISHED was dead, or that Mr. K would be pressed into making dead as soon as he comes home. This is a good day.

I may have mentioned that my priorities and standards have shifted a bit as I've gotten older. Specifically, they've shifted south faster than a pair of queen sized pantyhose with no elastic on a 90 pound woman with stork legs.

There was a time I would have thought it a good day if there was a Porsche in my garage when I got home. Later, I'd have thought it a good day if there was a paid-for vehicle in my garage. Later still, I'd have been looking for a clean, leak-free garage. Now, it's nothing dead/dying/should be dying.

Other reasons I know this is a good day:
I dressed in the dark so as not to traumatize Mr. K (who is still deathly afraid of light and sound in the unearthly hours BC--Before Caffeine) and still managed not to show up at work wearing a bright red bra beneath a white shirt.
Even better, I managed to not put my panties on sideways or inside out--and they weren't a bright color, either.
I did not throw my keys away (this is a new priority, of course, but one I'm delighted to have met just the same)
I remembered where I parked my car and did not believe for 10 panicky moments that it had been stolen (we shall not discuss this in depth....Mr K is STILL saying good-bye to me each morning with the phrase "I love you, have a good day, don't lose the car")
I did not jam a syringe full of cat dander protein into the tip of my thumb so hard that it hung there, wobbling slightly, while the patient I was about to give several injections to looked on in horror (yes, I did once and no, it did not feel nearly as good as I had hoped it might)
I did not fish the paper out of the mailbox in the dark and hear the unmistakable splash of a puddle the size of East New Brunseltucky swallowing up the Seattle Times.
I actually remembered, when walking down the stairs in the dark this lovely 4:00 am, that I had wound fake pine garland around the banister top to bottom--instead of forgetting, using the banister, and ending up with a newel post wrapped in 15 feet of lumped up fake greenery, and a pile of fake pine needles in the entryway.
I fed the cats without sticking my finger in the cat food, and so did not have to spend the morning answering the question "What fragrance are you wearing?" with an earnest "Mariner's Catch...and you?"
I finally managed to wear enough layers at work to not freeze my tushie off...never mind that I looked a lot like the Michelin man and could not actually put my arms down for most of the day.
I remembered to put ground coffee in the coffeemaker before turning it on, so Mr. didn't have to drink vaguely flavored hot water and complain bitterly about how much more caffeine it takes these days to really wake him up (it was a good day for Mr. K, too, in that he did not mix up the mug he drinks coffee out of and the mug he spits tobacco into and end up spitting in his coffee. Yes, he has done this in the past. Yes, it is a very good thing that he didn't mix them up the other way.)
No one barfed on me, my knitting, the couch, the carpet, the roof of the car, or my favorite pair of fleece pants.

See? A good day. And to think, I used to dread being middle-aged. Not anymore. Just look at all the drama/trauma/angst I've avoided in this one day alone!


  • At 9:17 PM, Blogger Lynn said…

    Now I know who got my good day, LOL.

  • At 9:54 AM, Blogger ambermoggie said…

    oh Ms K you lift my spirits with your posts:)
    Its a good day when you don't fall on the floor going to the toilet in the middle of the night and forget there aren't stairs anymore because we now live in a bungalow.
    Its a good day when you don't sit on a knitting needle and have to go to casualty and explain why you did what you did:)

  • At 2:10 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Y'know, I think those cats are falling down on the job... [g] Want me to give 'em a peptalk? ::runs::

    (Ok, just FYI, now Blogger wants me to sign in using my Google/Blogger ID to comment, or choose Anonymous, having apparently ditched the Other option where one can put in your online nick and blog addy so a link will show up. Honestly, you try out GoogleTalk a few times... Or at least I guess that's the problem. Unless Blogger's made some big policy change/software update. Sheesh; programmers. Ok, so I start using a sigline so you know it's me! I guess. I don't want to be going in and out of Google as I bounce around commenting on different blogs. I'm nutsoid enough, even if Firefox will remember the password. [g])


  • At 6:29 AM, Anonymous Childe said…

    Totally funny - Thanks!


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