Blow me

The morning started with me warming the outfit the tiny princess so carefully selected the night before, in the dryer. Heaven forbid she put room temperature clothes on her body prior to 7am. It’s uncivilized. Then I made pancakes. With m&m’s. And delivered said pancakes with grape juice to her room. Yes, I know. Overcompensating. If I were a dude you’d be waving your pinky finger at me. I get it. We can discuss later.

Then I packed her wholesome lunch, and nutritious snack, and drove her to school with the top down on our kick-ass new car. Work was awesome. Unprescendented 12-hour-bent-over-with-no-lube day, which included a first-time stressful-as-fuck meeting with my boss’s boss’s boss. Yes – level up x 3.

At 8:30pm I returned home, to the giant house I pay for alone that has twice as many toilets as asses, and all I wanted was to lay the fuck down please. With a martini, a cigarette, and two hot Venezuelans (gender negotiable).

Instead, I lovingly laid down with the tiny princess, asked about her day, and sang all seven Disney songs I know, like I do every night.

She was laying there sweetly with eyes closed, and for a full minute I dreamily thought wow she looks just like she did when she was a sleeping toddler. Precious.

I snuck out lusting after my jammies, hearing my beautiful white king size bed calling to me (silently admitting I had no energy for Venezuelans). The light at the end of the 16 hour tunnel was so close I was almost weepy with borrowed relief.

Yep. Cat shit on my bedroom floor. Three piles. Still warm. I wanted to bury them both alive. After I cleaned up the mess with their own fur.

I took a breath and remembered I have so much to be grateful for (according to daily affirmation bullshit dooshbags who aren’t cleaning up cat shit), and then cleaned up the steamy poop with the appropriate tools. Just to be clear: not decapitated cats per my original plan.

I dumped the bucket of bleachy shit water down the drain and now, for real this time, my jammies and sleeping throne are in my sights.

[from down the hall]:
Angelic sleepy cherub: Mommy?

Haggard, yellow-gloved, sweaty single mom: yes baby?

I miss Daddy.

Comments

  1. oof. Big hug.

  2. I am so bitter for you. That would be such a great story if it wasn’t you. I don’t think any of my bitter stories can compete.

    • To be fair which usually doesn’t interest me, it’s the first crap day I’ve had in a long while haha. So I’ma be happy and roll on. I know you hate to hear this, but I’ll find something else to be bitter about soon, I promise.

  3. There’s no glamour in a single mom’s life. Just lots of work and never enough time to do it.

  4. I think cats do that to hold onto their rightful spots as the rulers of the universe. My late-kitty would pick the best times (i.e. up all night with newborn) to leave a puddle of vomit in the most inconvenient places.

  5. Gawd, I thought it was bad when my cat puked on the floor. Cat’s are a trip!

  6. You. Are. Hilarious! Finding this blog is the best thing that’s happened to me all week.

    • Your comment is the best thing that’s happened to me all week – thank you! I just read your poem and I have to go back and read the post that explains it. Right now I’m being pulled out the door to go “make something in nature.” I don’t know what that means, but I hope it means a diet coke by the pool while I throw in coins for her to hunt. I mean, that’s possible. Right?

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