There are days like today where I spent most of it up to my elbows in cat urine soaked pieces of furniture, clothes and whatever else the furry bastard could piss on, that I dream a stranger from the future will appear, shaking his head, saying, "This is no place for you! Don't you know who you are?"
"What do you mean?"
"You are the most famous/loved/revered/sexy/worshipped/insert narcissistic fantasy here in the world!"
I would sit up and brush back an adorable curl that has come loose and hangs wistfully in my face. I look like a Disney wet dream. "Really? Me?"
"Yes. You! Come with me! I'll show you!"
And then he would whisk me away to this place where I am adored and where my life is fulfilling and cat urine smells like rose petals (Screw science. This is my fantasy). All my needs are met, my bank account is like an deep well of cash and my family is happy and not one bit neurotic. (Wait...take back that last one. Even fantasy has its limits.)
But then the buzzer breaks into my daydream and the dryer needs emptying and the washing machine needs refilling and the whole damn cycle goes on and on and on.
0 comments:
Post a Comment