I had a blessed hour of time to myself the other day. Taking multi-tasking to the extreme, I began to attempt to complete my long to do list.
I was returning phone calls, organizing old family photos for a picture book I was making for my mothers 70th birthday, paying bills and making cd’s for my mother-in-law, when our good friend and employee waltzed into my office. Since I find Baddy very hard to understand as he walks around quoting text from his pamphlets, I have appointed this friend?as my technical advisor. But, as much as I appreciate and love him, at this particular moment I wanted to scream, “Do you have an appointment?” Maybe, if I were?dressed in my superhero leather cat suit he would have better recognized that I was bussssyyyyy. Clearly, he was not in tune with my desperation to accomplish the impossible.
My hair rose as I felt his presence standing there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I retracted my fangs and turned around, no noticeable aggression showing on my face. Hiya Lovey,?I said, my voice sounding unnaturally syrupy. He was ready to train me on the main alarm for the house. The alarm was there to protect me if ever I should have an emergency.?Ha!?He proceeded to give me a dramatization of the shrill sound of the alarm so that I could recognize it if it ever went off.
The phone rang amidst the chaos. I was not about to pick up the 800 number that was showing on caller id. Im certain that solicitors invading my privacy will be the ones to push me over the edge. Baddy, who can build a house but who is completely inept with the telephone, is the appointed person to reject these people. When they are so bold as to come to our door, he politely tells the solicitors to go sell Jesus elsewhere, being that his wife is a Jew.
This time though I picked the wrong time to not pick up the phone. Five minutes later the volunteer fire department arrived to save me. I was impressed and annoyed at the same time. How could my one-hour go so awry? Would everybody pleeeeasssse go the fuck away! At the moment I do not need saving. Come back at 3:30pm when the kids get?home.
A vodka cellar might be helpful at these particular times. Not everyone admits to having?a vice but I know they do, otherwise parents would surely self combust like an Austin Power fembot. Whether it is smoking the ganja, taking painkillers, maniacally working out or, in Baddy’s case, aiming the car toward small animals, all parents need release…or a cape to make them fly away, or be invisible, if only for a moment.