Just Another Manic Monday

Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

Sunday night, I was brushing and flossing before bed when I guess I got a little too vigorous with the floss and...pop! Out came a crown.  Super way to start a week.  I love looking like I am the mayor of  Dogpatch.

So, first thing in the morning, I called the dentist while I tried to suck my coffee through a straw in order to avoid scaring Tim and Chloe by screaming every time the hot coffee met the exposed nerve (I probably could've skipped the coffee, but that just would have led to a really ugly incident when Tim spoke to me, breathed too loud, or entered my line of sight.  Believe me, the straw was the way to go to avoid massive bloodshed.)
Naturally, I got the dentist's voicemail, so I left a message and then proceeded to have my usual Monday fun cleaning and doing laundry.  Yea Monday.

Somewhere around 10:30 or so, the dentist called back to say he could see me at 12 or...hmmm, nope, noon was pretty much my only option.  Great. I guess unless I want to pick up some cement at the hardware store and have a go at it myself, I'll see you in an hour!?!? Yikes!  I think the wicked witch had more warning that a house was going to fall on her.

Now normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, but at that point, I had made some poor choices. 

First, I had decided to try my hairdresser's advice and put rollers in my hair instead of blow-drying it, since standing out in the yard with the dog eight thousand times a day had reduced my hair to a flat, yet frizzy mess due to the humidity/constant rain (when did I move to Seattle?)

Chanting, "I think I can, I think I can", like the little engine that could (ha! What did he know, he only had to climb a lousy hill!), I began ripping rollers from my hair, flinging them hither and yon around the bathroom, only to discover that I had solved the pesky flat-hair problem by giving myself a bouffant!  Aack!!!  Unless I wanted to break out the pearls, memorize Harvey Fierstein's songs and join a local production of Hairspray, I needed to do something fast.

Frantically, I grabbed at my head with both hands trying in vain to deflate the hairdo from H@**, while eyeing the spray bottle of water I was using to train the dog.  Hmmm.  Big hair or flat, frizzy hair?  So many decisions, so little time.

Catching sight of the clock, I realized I was running out of time, so option A it was.

The second mistake I had made was to let the dog crawl under the bed for a little snooze instead of running her outside fifteen minutes earlier.  So now I had to quickly dig her out and take her for a potty call or else I would return home from my trip to find Lake Superior in my living room.

"Chloe, Chloe," I called in my 'happy voice', trying to coax her out.

Unimpressed, she yawned, stretched and rolled over, burying her head under her tail.

"Come on, girl.  Let's go outside."  I clapped my hands and fake-ran toward the stairs.

Nothing.  Not so much as an eyelash flickered.

"Chloeee,"  I begged desperately, dangling a toy in front of the bed, even while I silently acknowledged the utter futility of such actions.

"Come to mama."  I made kissy noises and rubbed my fingers together like I had a treat.

Sadly for me, the little dickens is as smart as she is cute, so all my efforts came to nothing.  Finally, with precious seconds ticking away, I had to resort to running down the stairs and pretending to go outside to stir the little monster...er, I mean darling, into action.

So back up the stairs I dashed, grabbed her majesty, and tore outside, depositing her in the "potty" spot.  Standing over her, I invoked the magic words, "Hurry up!" and waited.  And waited.

Hey was that a squirrel?  "Hurry up!"

Oooh, is a person walking by?  "Hurry up!"

A doggie! A doggie!  I wanna play!  "Hurry up!!!"

Finally, when she had nothing better to do, she obliged me, but not before the humidity and done it's job and I no longer looked like a refugee from the sixties, but more like a home perm experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong.  Super great.

With the clock ticking, I jumped in the car and took off, keeping my fingers crossed that I would get a parking space.  At lunch hour.  In a shopping plaza located near the courthouse and multiple businesses.

I do believe in miracles.  I do.  I do.  And I also believe in an invisible six-foot rabbit named Harvey (old Jimmy Stewart movie).

And all of this was before I chose a route with construction.  And drivers who had apparently failed their test sixteen times in a row.  And...Ahh.  I love Monday.