Who Stole My Sharpie?
The missing sharpie led me to the supply closet. There were NO SHARPIES in the supply closet. 3 weeks ago there were THOUSANDS! Now – there are none.
And thus I am plotting people’s deaths.
I swear – if they asked me teach a class on being pregnant, I would choose Pregnant Bitchery 101.
I’ve been doing tons of Lamaze breathing these days – and not in preparation for delivery – but to try and keep myself from a.) screaming and b.) strangling someone.
Of course, it doesn’t help that completely shitty things have been happening on a constant basis.
Shall I go into yesterday’s dentist appointment?
I was angry before even getting in there just remembering the whole “full mouth debridement” scam at my last visit - and I was preparing a small speech (which, sadly, I never got to give.)
Then, while in the waiting room – there was a “Best of Friends” DVD on – only it was stuck on the menu screen. So I heard the beginnings of the Friends theme over and over and OVER again.
At one point, I got up and tried to hit play or do anything to MAKE IT STOP – but the efforts were all in vain.
Finally – I’m called to the back by this size 0 Malibu Barbie assistant in scrubs.
So I waddle down the hall following her – in total pregnant stance – right hand clutching lower back, left arm flailing in the air for support. She looks back and waits for me several times because she’s waaaaaaay ahead of me.
So I sit in the chair and I proceed to pull out the fax from my OB detailing what meds I could take, etc, which I’m sure they never requested (and I was correct).
So I hand it to her and say – “Here’s the note from my obstetrician detailing what meds I can have and all that good stuff.”
And she giggles in her tinkly, Barbie-assed way and says:
“Oh! You’re pregnant?!?”
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I got totally sarcastic with this bitch –
“Ummmmmmmmm - yeah!”
What I should have said was, “No bitch, I was doing my best impression of Fred Sandford pretending to have a fucking heart attack!”
I was pissed for the rest of the visit.
The whole dental part went shockingly well – but I was too angry to notice.
Anyway – I went home and nested for the afternoon – cleaning out old clothes and whatnot.
And that was my day.
And here I am.
Fuming and sharpie-less.
Waaaaaait a minute –
I just received this postcard.
The reverse reads:
Dear Pregnant Bitch:
Life (and ink) is too short to deal with your rantings any longer. Jaune and I have gone to Paris where she can live the type of free and topless life she’s always dreamed of. She really lights up my life – a lot more than you ever did or could. Don’t try to find us.
Signed,
Sharpie
Isn’t that raspberry beret a little cliché, Sharpie dear? Where did you find it - in a secondhand store?
