I’ll Take a Tuesday– With a Heaping Side of SUCK.

03Mar10

But, to be honest, I really wanted to give it back.
(My yesterday Tuesday that is).

If you have read my posts, you may have learned that I am FAR from a morning person. In fact, I may be the most un-morning person in the history of persons. Even still, I should have known that yesterday was going to shape up to be a hell day.

After my three hour evening nap, I went through my usual hysterics and finally pulled myself out of bed, got my son up and dressed, and moved into the kitchen to cook breakfast. I took the puppy out for a walk while my son was eating and then the three of us hopped in the car and headed off to school. None of this is groundbreaking. There was nothing to be alarmed about– YET.

After I got back from taking my son to school, I decided to do some work in my office. It’s a cozy space in an upstairs loft that has great natural light and stays much warmer than the rest of my place. And it was FREEZING in the house– 61 degrees, to be exact. I could’ve turned the furnace on, but it makes the house so darn dry. I grabbed a sweatshirt instead and headed upstairs to cross some things off of my to-do list. After a few hours of working, it was time to go downstairs and take a shower. So, I gathered my cell phone, some papers, and a glass of water off of my desk and began walking down the stairs.

All morning, my “bad” foot was giving me lots of problems. (I have one “bad” foot that causes me a lot of pain and one “good” foot that seems to behave most of the time). After making it down about two stairs, I tried to take a step and my “bad” foot decided it was a good time to completely fail me. This sent me tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

Yes. I fell down the stairs.
All 14 of them.

As I was falling, I was obsessed about holding onto my cell phone (there was no way I could let that break) and the glass of water I was carrying (I had flash visions of slashing myself on pieces of broken glass, which would have meant blood on the rug and I couldn’t have had that either). I am happy to say that my grip didn’t falter and neither my phone nor the glass fell out of my hands. The flip side to that is that I had no hands to brace or catch myself– or to slow my fall.

So, tons of rug-rash and bruises for me.
And, although I managed to keep my grasp on the glass, the water in it wasn’t so agreeable. It totally rained on me.

I was at the bottom of my staircase…
Sore.
Stunned.
Soaking.
Shaking.

I couldn’t get up right away. Partially because my feet and legs were temporarily paralyzed from the fall and partially because I was laughing so fucking hard. (I don’t know what it is, but I can’t contain myself when a grown person falls– including myself). I was laughing so hard that I was wheezing and crying. I couldn’t breathe.

So, I stayed there. At the bottom of the stairs. Wet and freezing. Injured and chortling.
And, to add insult to injury, Bella was licking all of the water off of my face.
Still, none of this commotion was enough to wake The Man from his cozy slumber.

As I was soaking my sore bones in a hot bath, I resolved to not let my fall get the best of me. I decided to press the mental reset button. But, the sound of my phone through the door was really fucking with my attempt to be “zen.”

When I crawled out of the bath and looked at my phone, I found a series of text messages from an unfamiliar number. After reading them, my heart dropped. I felt like someone cut out my kidney. The family that sold us the puppy was having some second thoughts. They wanted to buy Bella back!

After posting an ad in the paper. After a series of correspondences. After coming over to “inspect” my place and meet my family. After the “trial period.” After cashing my check. After she had been living with us for a week and a half and carved a special place in our hearts.

They fucking wanted her back?

I knew I wasn’t in a situation where I had to even consider giving her back, but it really put me in a terrible spot. We had grown attached to Bella. My son has honestly never been happier. Even The Man is keen on her. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to be a (total) bitch. The woman’s husband called me and told me that he had never seen his wife so depressed and only wanted to make her happy again.

Yea. Noble. Romantic. Super sweet.
But, at the expense of my family’s feelings.

And too late, Fuckface.

Even so, I told him that I needed to talk things over with my son and that we would call him after sleeping on the idea. And, when I did tell my son what was going on, he looked like I just told him that I was going to die in three days. His eyes welled up with tears and he dug deep down to that manly place that holds them back. With a crackly voice, he said, “I guess we need to give her back to them, mom. They had her first– and when someone has something first, they should get it back, right?”

Right.
Wait a minute! Hell no!
What were these people trying to do to us???

I was sitting there in front of a 9 year old boy with a broken heart. I was totally dazed. (And my fucking ribs were killing me!) I knew then that we had to keep the puppy. She was ours. Fair and square.

The whole day, it weighed heavily on my heart and mind. I have no idea why, but it really did. On top of it all, The Man had a terrible day at work. I know that most people probably feel this way, but the people he works with are co-mayors of Assholeville. Seriously. And, since The Man works from home, his bad days are literally my bad days because I can hear their idiotic exchanges over the speakerphone.

Talk about needing a drink.
And some fresh air.
So, I took a trip to my favorite liquor store. (This place is like a liquor palace… Think Wal-Mart square footage with nothing but beer, wine, liquor, and all the fixins).

As soon as I walked in, I immediately felt better.
Rick Astley was singing \”Never gonna give you up…\” over the loudspeaker.

Rick knows!

It was a sign!
Bella was really ours. The satellite radio gods agreed.

So, I made good on my promise to call the woman’s husband back today and tell him our decision. Well, sorta… Instead of telling him myself, I made my son call him, pretending to cry while telling him how much his feelings were hurt and how Bella was part of our family now. All I can do is hope that our phone call made him feel as shitty as his made me feel.

Love,
Gigi
xxx

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Tags: ass face, bruised ribs, Gin, Puppies, Rick Astley