Flew today, and while poo-gas smells were at a blessed minimum, the nature of our jets is that they are very old, very dirty, and let's face it- you know that "not-fresh" feeling doe-eyed preteens murmur to dutiful, tampon-packing moms? Imagine that sensation ALL OVER.
MOSTLY ON YOUR FACE, THOUGH. And of course, today is the day I run out of my little wet-wipes with the soothing this-herb and cleansing this-botanical, so here I sit with a handful of those Clorox wipes because for reals, I feel too disgusting to be seen even in textual format. My primary concern at this point is that The Roommate will order food and then do that thing he does where he doesn't hear the VERY LOUD doorbell and it will weigh heavy on those manners my mother beat into me, thinking of that poor wage slave at our door, treading water in the 100% humidity out there, until I finally get up to answer it.
And don't think I can just hit The Roommate until he is made aware that his food is here; one of his uncanny abilities is to be randomly and inexplicably shirtless, and apparently making the seventeen year old at the door witness his bare chest is somehow more offensive/trashy than his oily counterpart, resplendent in t-shirt from 4 am and sweatpants issued by the military. So off I pad in my resentment and guilt (which does nothing to further the attractiveness of this situation, as you can imagine.) I pause at the top of the stairs and look down the darkened well.
"Maybe I should leave the light off," I think. "Then they will only see that there are hands holding money, surely that won't be threatening."
MOSTLY ON YOUR FACE, THOUGH. And of course, today is the day I run out of my little wet-wipes with the soothing this-herb and cleansing this-botanical, so here I sit with a handful of those Clorox wipes because for reals, I feel too disgusting to be seen even in textual format. My primary concern at this point is that The Roommate will order food and then do that thing he does where he doesn't hear the VERY LOUD doorbell and it will weigh heavy on those manners my mother beat into me, thinking of that poor wage slave at our door, treading water in the 100% humidity out there, until I finally get up to answer it.
And don't think I can just hit The Roommate until he is made aware that his food is here; one of his uncanny abilities is to be randomly and inexplicably shirtless, and apparently making the seventeen year old at the door witness his bare chest is somehow more offensive/trashy than his oily counterpart, resplendent in t-shirt from 4 am and sweatpants issued by the military. So off I pad in my resentment and guilt (which does nothing to further the attractiveness of this situation, as you can imagine.) I pause at the top of the stairs and look down the darkened well.
"Maybe I should leave the light off," I think. "Then they will only see that there are hands holding money, surely that won't be threatening."
"...maaaaaaybe not."
So then I suck it up, hit the massively unflattering overhead lighting, and pound down the stairs. Note the change in verb there? From pad to pound? It's not an intentional thing, kids- the acoustics are conspiring with the lights to make me as monstrous as possible. It is impossible to descend those stairs without sounding like you are attempting to Riverdance and your teacher was Derek Vinyard.
So this kid's tip is like, quadrupling with every Jello-shaking stomp, and just when I am feeling like the most hideous mockery of human girl conjoined with Hutt, something clicks. Or falls off like a load off a truck. I decide, eff it, I was the six year old who wanted to be a T-Rex when I got older; let's own this scene.
Even with the flying- can we say Spirit Animal?
WHAM WHAM WHAM GREASE GREASE WHAM and the door WHOOMPS open, and I'm
because T-Rexes have many teeth AND much attitude, and then I actually behold the delivery guy,
He's.... beautiful...
...
At least The Roommate is fairly good at comforting me when he finds me fetal-style in a corner:
Your life makes the best stories. Watching this play out on my mental TV was highly entertaining. Soon I shall regale you with my own door-answering stories. But what do we say to my stories? "Not today."
ReplyDeleteUnsat. Demanding answering-door stories now. O_O
ReplyDelete