You know how when you think something is really bad then you find out it’s not as bad as you thought so then the original bad-ness ain’t so bad?
OK, I’ll try it again.
Let’s say I come in with a new pair of heels. Clacking all around the kitchen and all over the living room.
Keith: “New shoes?”
Me: “Oh, my God…you would not believe it. I’m not even looking for shoes but wanna kill some time at lunch instead of going back to the work joint so I pass (fill-in with any big, giant shoe store here) and I stop because I see this huge sign in the window that screams “CLEARANCE” at me and well you know I ain’t just blowing by that so I stop.”
Keith: “Of course you did.”
Me: “And as soon as I walk in, there looking at me is the most perfect pair of heels I have ever in my life seen and I get weak. Dizzy. My eyes go all fuzzy. They’re perfect. Just the right size heel, the toe is more point-y than round-y and you know I can’t do the round-y toe heels because they make my ankles look stupid and well, a point-y toe just suits me better….”
Keith: ***big eyes***crickets***
Me: “…plus they’re my size. Which never happens because you know anytime I find the perfect shoe, do they have my size? Hell, no. They have every size in the book but my size, so they are my size and they are on clearance!”
Keith: “Cool.” (Starts clicking the remote to the TV which is a sign he is now losing interest.)
Me: “And the best part? Only $176!! Look at’em!!”
(That’s when I fling my leg up and shake my foot at him.)
Keith: ***big eyes***blank stare***not breathing***
Me: “I KNOW, RIGHT!?! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT??”
Keith: “Are you telling me you paid $176 for a pair of shoes?”
Me: “No. I only paid $40 but now $40 don’t sound so bad, does it?”
I know. I’m brilliant. It works.
I highly suggest you try it.
And not only is my amazing wealth of wisdom good for the husband, it’s pretty darn good for the hormonal teenager, too.
Because, well you know…just the littlest of any little thing can throw the entire universe into a tizzy and a small part of her dramatic soul is withering away at the very thought of not having a full 9-waking hours to straighten her hair or look at the wall or suck down 52 gallons of gas going back and forth to the local drive-thru getting coffee and such.
(I say “a full 9-waking hours” because even though I suck at math, I do know 24 hours in a full day minus 15-sleeping hours equals 9-waking hours.)
(Who in the hell needs 15-sleeping hours? Oh, right. My girl.)
I wanted a few things done so I left this note on the kitchen cabinet:
So, that’s how I manage to not be a total loser of a mom and also make life seem really, really horrible then not so bad after all.
(Because really, now #1 and #2 ain’t all that bad, is it?)
Well, that’s one way I do it.
If she’s smart enough to check the mail (but she won’t because it ain’t on the list and heaven forbid one ounce of work be done that isn’t requested), she’d find a little card I mailed her.
With $40 in it.
Because I am THAT friggin awesome.