Did you ever have one of those days where you wish you could just crawl back into bed and pretend everything that went on that day NEVER happened?
Pretty much, that was my day: the highlight was sitting in a bank for over an hour, yet again signing part of my life away.
Picked my new/used car up around Noon, and let's just say the day went to pot after that: not 5 minutes after leaving the dealer, my insurance company calls and, because of a screw up on the part of the agent for the demolition derby driver who hit ME, they are going to stop payment on the settlement check they sent me if I don't get some paperwork their way, ASAP.
Mind you, I've been with these people for 15 years: think that buys me any brownie points? After spending the better part of the afternoon running from my insurance agent to the NCDMV (where the lady who "helped" me was about as friendly as someone in the Taliban) I THINK I've got that ironed out. Unless they find a new way to screw me over between now and tomorrow morning.
So, I arrive home to find my paper, pipe, and slippers laid out for me, right? Uh, no. What I DO find is Ciera has lost the ******** remote control again, and has somehow managed to leave 2 Mt Dew cans, a bag of pretzels, a bowl of grapes, and a half full glass of Dr. Pepper on her bedroom floor. Along with various books, clothes, CD's, and pencils laying about.
One of those pencils ends up in the possession of Rakes, who proceeds to color all over the banister leading down the stairs. As I'm reading him the riot act about not writing on the walls, he turns into Johnny Cochran and proceeds to tell me that "I NOT Bite on the wall: I bite on the dairs. DAT is a wall, Dad" while pointing to, well, the wall. I half way expected him to grab a pencil and say "If 'de ball doesn't bit, you bust aquit".
At this point, with Trot bellowing in the background like some wounded wildebeest because he wants to go outside, I'm considering three options: go completely postal, leave and head for Canada, or laugh inside, cover my mouth to hide my smile, and chalk it up to one more day being the Red Sox Dad.
As you can tell, I chose the latter. 'Cause my life is gonna make a fine sitcom someday: I've just got to find the right agent to sell this to FOX.
I hate travel days.
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