Sunday, January 22, 2006


I thought I'd show you the end of my day first. This photo illustrates how I looked upon arrival to my house after I had washed my hands. I have these days in which I am just incredibly destructive to myself and the things immediately around me. Friday was one of those days.
It all began when I was checking the kids reading from the night before. I had made it all the way around the room before someone said, "What's on your face?" A quick check in the mirror revealed that my - bright blue permanent - pen had burst and spread it's joy all over my clipboard, my hands, my pants, and - apparently - my face. Clean up number one.
A little while later, someone was kind enough to offer me a cream puff, of which I promptly took a ginormous bite. No one mentioned to me a cream puff's ability to squoosh out the other end. And nobody mentioned to me that you probably shouldn't eat one over your keyboard. I watched with sinking hopes as the cream seeped into my keyboard, certainly ruining K, L, and the comma forever. What kind of tech help request was this one going to entail? I decided to take things into my own (Smurfesque) hands and reached for the can of air duster, silently praising myself for my problem solving skills and general cleverness.
I studied the situation closely. I leaned in for the best aim. I shook the air duster. This should be a clean shot. FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS! I fired! Then I stood there, frozen and flummoxed.

I had fired sticky, gooey cream puff directly into the air, my face, and my hair. I looked up, blinking, my top eyelashes clinging a little to the bottom ones. I surreptitiously swiped at the gooey mess on my face and in my hair, trying to cover the evidence. I roughly shoved my keyboard back into my desk. How many words really used K and L, anyway? And commas are so overused. This opportunity would allow me to cut back.
Things went pretty well for a while until it came time for my bathroom break. I marched down there, armed with my vial of Stink B Gone and was determined to make this a quick and painless visit. I was capable of using a restroom without incident like any normal person. I entered the One Man bravely, while cautiously sniffing the air. All clear. I had beaten the Phantom today. The tide was turning! I confidently admired my new sweater, a gift from Cousineddie, in the mirror. I straightened the sweater's belt and struck a pose before getting down to business.
I carefully assumed the (non-hover) position and relaxed for a brief moment. Standing to take care of details, I felt something ice cold slap wetly at my thigh. I looked down in horror. The belt to my beautiful new sweater had somehow dipped in the toilet bowl! Panic struck me. Had it happened pre-pee or post-pee? How much foulness did it touch? Had the toilet been cleaned since the Phantom last fouled it? This was horrible. I awkwardly put myself back together, all the while trying not to touch the wet part of the belt, letting it dangle and drip before me. I hosed it down thoroughly in the sink and attempted to dry it with paper towels. There was no telling what the class was doing at this point, but I really couldn't let this go.
I stole a quick glance into the mirror. A bit of cream puff remained beside my right eye, my sweater was moist at best, and my hands looked like I had been finger painting for days. And it was only about 11:00am! It's a good thing I can laugh at myself.

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