37%
Surprise! The whining alarm clock of death didn’t go off this morning, and surprise! My cell phone alarm didn’t ring! (My fault, really; I set the phone on SILENT because ever since I figured out how to get my email on my cell phone it buzzes and lights up and chirps to itself pretty much all night while my gmail account happily fills up with spam and I can’t fucking deal.) I finally woke up to the inevitable Wait, I Think Someone’s Having Sex With My Leg alarm, an alarm that some mornings is sort of the opposite of effective but this morning was extremely effective. And as my violated leg and I hauled our shit into the bathroom to not shower or put on any eye makeup, R lolled around in bed making stretching noises and also the kinds of pitiful noises that a person makes when you take the leg away too soon.
“I don’t know what to do today,” he yawned. I suggested that he get up, sort of brush his hair and then try on three different pairs of pants until he found one that didn’t fit like he’d been eating M&Ms for breakfast for the past two weeks, but then I remembered that oh wait, that was me. And as I was hiking on Pair Numero Three, R entered into a supine dialog with the dog in which they discussed what
I would do if
I had President's Day off:
Things That Were On The List:Not get up.
Not shower.
Have a beer in about an hour.
Fuck around on the computer.
That was the complete list until I felt compelled to join in, announcing that the
first thing that I would do, naturally, would be to fold the clothes that were in the dryer. At which point the list grew.
The New List:Not get up.
Not shower.
Have a beer in about an hour.
Fuck around on the computer.
Not fold the clothes in the dryer.
Not wash any additional clothing.
Not pick up the dry cleaning.
Talk about washing my car, but not wash my car.
Maybe, but probably not wash my face.
I’m happy to report that this was largely a one-sided conversation and that the dog hardly had anything negative to add. This is no doubt due in large part to the fact that The Jake puts a hell of a lot of stock in not getting a lot of shit done, and also because he knows that I feed him every single day and R has never fed him, never even one time, not even when I’m not home, and this weighs heavily on The Jake’s mind.
I would like to add for the record that regardless of what R has told our dog, there’s a fair to midland chance that I might have folded those clothes.
(This is completely unrelated, but there’s a woman on the other side of my cubicle wall who’s been playing that “I Can Only Imagine” song on
repeat since nine o’clock this morning, and Christian gospel or not, man, I’m
THIS CLOSE to cramming that portable CD player up her ass.)
