1,500 seconds worth of first world semi-problems
Monday was Monday, but it could have been Sunday, Wednesday, or Friday. Yes, I know, it’s been discussed ad nauseam; that’s just how COVID life be. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, but sometimes things—like 46.9% of all Americans—suck.
Tuesday, on the other hand, well, Tuesday can go fuck itself. All it took was 25 minutes for me to want to go back to bed and or start cracking beers.
I stop by Wifey’s office in the former Chamber of Farts, where she lets me know that B is off school due to icy road conditions. Apparently, we had freezing rain overnight, and the roads are way too treacherous for the teachers to get to their virtual classrooms located in their actual classrooms at the school.
I mix up a shitty cup of coffee and then somehow get the dogs outside and off of the deck that is coated in a glaze of slippy ice.
A morning dump sneaks up on me like a sniper deep in the shit behind enemy lines; there were many casualties.
I go out to the garage to open up the giant tub of Ice Meltz® I bought recently. I removed the hard plastic tab as instructed, but I can’t get the lid off. To quote my father, “well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!”
My thumbs and I fight with it for a few minutes before busting out the right tools for the job; a tree pruner and a hammer. Next time I’ll get medieval on it with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch, Marsellus Wallace style.
I spread some “salt” on the Cul-De-Sac-Shack’s driveway before taking an extra cup inside to access the front sidewalk without having to walk on the icy driveway.
The dogs let me know they want morning treats with crying and growling. I supply the treats, and they both shun them for some reason. Fucking stupid dogs! I love them, but some days!!!
[shakes fist at the sky]
I grab my big red cup of Ice Meltz® and head out on the front porch—Lola excitedly follows me outside soon as she hears the front door open. Not wanting her out while I’m spreading probably not all that pet-friendly ice melt, I try to get her back inside. She is not cooperating.
I frustratedly sit my cup of Ice Meltz® down on the porch and reach down to try and get her in.
Somehow, in the span of fewer than sixty seconds, I seem to forget my purpose for being outside, step down onto the ice-covered cement porch step, and slide right off the porch and onto the sidewalk and snow-covered front yard.
Being a long-time expert at embarrassing myself, I quickly do a scan around the “sac’ to see if anyone was outside, and then laugh and raise my arms in victory as if I meant to do it, just in case any neighbors saw from their windows. They might be looking out their windows thinking that I am a dimwitted fatty who just fell off the front porch, but at least they’ll know I’m a dimwitted fatty who just fell off the front porch and can still laugh at being a dimwitted fatty who just fell off the front porch.
Lola runs right into the house. It seems all I need to do to get her inside is throw my ass off the front porch and into the front yard.
I go inside and shake off the snow and assess any injuries. My shoulder and hip took the brunt of the fall, and I was helped a bit by the snow in the front yard, but I have no doubt that I’ll still bruise due to the blood thinners in my system. For now, I’m just happy I didn’t hit my head or fall entirely on the icy cement.
I finish the job I set out to do and go inside, fighting back the urge to weep at the slap-stick idiocy that has followed me around for 49.5 years.
I revisit Wifey in her office to relay the story, get some sympathy, and apologize for being the sort of man that can’t open plastic containers of salt correctly or provide proper treats for our dogs. I also apologize for being a dimwitted fatty who just fell off the front porch, and even though I can, and do, laugh at myself, somedays I just want to go back to bed and start over later.