This is the story of how my day was ruined by the mysterious disappearance of my navy blue pants.
Nothing quite so tragic had befallen me since The Pillow Incident of 2015.
We were about to go away for our annual Labor Day trip and therefore, I had a lot to do. The Mister, because he’s The Original Man Without A Plan, (we’ll do that post sometime when I’m mad at him or he’s in a super good mood) gave me additional duties. No, I don’t know what the fuck he was thinkin. Prolly some reasonable shit like I work fewer hours than he does and I don’t take a full course load on top of that or whatever.
1. Drop battered Old Glory at the VFW.
Well, I tried, but what I thought was the nearest VFW turned out to be The American Legion and I’ve got to look that up. There has GOT to be one on the fort. Imma look it up, I really am.
2. Pay water bill.
Yes, in person, because the dumbass water company can’t bill properly to save their lives and they still haven’t hired a deposit specialist to cash the fucking checks. I went in there, slid my statement and my $100 bill through the slot in the glass and the lady said somethin about One-fifty-two-somethin and I said, “Pardon me?” as indignantly as I possibly could. She said a new bill was due on the 15th. I said, “That’s nice, I don’t have a new bill yet. I’m just paying the bill we do have.” Maybe I said it a little bit through my teeth.
3. Mail insurance dooji.
I don’t know what the fuck it’s called. It’s that thing that plugs into your car and magically records your driving. I often drop our office’s residual mail at the Castleton post office on the way home. I’ve cultivated relationships at the post office. I’ve become That Lady Who Always Asks If We’re Sure.
“And you’re sure it will be postmarked today?”
“I just want to be sure.”
I don’t have to tell them I have anxiety disorder and trust issues. They know.
*makes note to take baked goods to post office ladies*
4. Get Bonnie Blue serviced.
This is a total Man Job, am I right? The Mister always does the car things. Good golly, I don’t wanna deal with oil changes and tire rotations and men who call me Little Lady. But then The Mister started talkin about the utterly complex agenda he had formulated, somethin about him takin the car in early and then bringin it home at lunch and it started to sound like one of those story problems with the trains so I said, “I’ll take it.”
I had planned to wear my navy blue pants and a sleeveless floral blouse and my red granny sandals which are quite comfortable. I have little control over my life, I just like knowing what the fuck I’m going to wear, okay? It comforts me.
So I straightened my hair and put my face on and I was sorta la-ti-da-ing and tra-la-la-ing around in my underwear, pleased as pie about how it was a Navy Blue Day only two days til we’d leave and I sang a lil tune about the lovers the dreamers and meeeeee….and MY NAVY BLUE PANTS WERE NOT IN MY PANTS SECTION!
Do you fuckin believe that shit?
So I checked in the blue section. Non et non et non. My frenzy heightened….
(At our house, it’s customary I do the washing machine bit. Generally Moo rotates the laundry. Usually Sassy puts the dry clothes on our bed and everyone takes care of their own putting away. Except The Mister went to bed early the night before and so he put away my things too, that asshole.)
So I did what most women do in a fashion crisis — I put on all black. I wore my black pencil skirt and my black summer sweater and my black espadrilles.
I sent an urgent email to my family:
my navy blue pants? anyone?
*cries in black skirt*
The Mister, he sent me back:
Sorry, I wore them today
NOT IN THE MOOD FOR YOUR FUNNIES, MISTER!
Later he text me that he’d hung them up and he didn’t remember where. I couldn’t even.
I was driving to work when I realized I had chosen the absolute worst thing to wear. You see, I work so close to the car dealership, I can literally walk there, which may or may not be why it makes sense that I should be the one to drop Bonnie Blue off, so just shut up with your logic and shit.
I could envision myself walking from the dealership to my office in my navy blue pants and my sensible granny sandals, lookin all mom-like, but I didn’t want to walk DOWN THE STREET in my skirt and my heels, lookin all woman-like because well, we covered that Tuesday.
They offer shuttle service The Mister text me.
oh good, cause i really wanna hike my ass into a fucking shuttle in this skirt.
FYI: Even in a fashion crisis, black summer sweater not the best choice for temperatures close to 100.
I asked Mentor if she minded picking me up. She did not mind.
I drove over to the dealership and it was all very complicated with the men and the lack of signage or any indication of procedure and automatic doors and the removal of the key from my ring, but I managed.
That man asked for my odometer reading and because I am me, I stared blankly at him and said, “My what?! Oh miles. I dunno. Not many.” Is that a normal question? Who the fuck knows how many miles are on their car on a random Wednesday in August? Shut up, I wasn’t askin you.
I arranged for the shuttle driver to pick me up after work. She was a little late, but she took me to the dealership in her lovely air-conditioned van upon which she had just installed running boards. She understood my navy blue pants problem.
It turns out Sassy had put my navy blue pants in Moo’s room BECAUSE SHE HATES ME as all children secretly hate their mothers.
In exchange for these extra duties, The Mister said he’d help me pack. He packed his own clothes.
He simply forgot every single one of his toiletry items.
Happy Friday Everyone! May you have all that you need for the weekend!