I knew the day was going to be garbage when I woke up before my alarm. Not because I was refreshed. Not because my body had miraculously decided that 6:17am was a beautiful time to embrace life. No. I woke up because something cold and wet touched my foot.
There are very few things you want touching your bare foot before sunrise, and absolutely none of them are described as cold and wet. I froze. Slowly, I reached down and discovered a dog standing beside the bed, staring at me with the deeply concerned expression of someone who had just witnessed a crime. The crime, apparently, was mine. He had thrown up on the blanket.
“Good morning to you too.”
Twenty minutes, one washing machine and several questionable life choices later, I went to make coffee. No coffee. I stared into the empty container like a Victorian widow awaiting news from the front. I shook it. Three lonely coffee grounds fell out.
Perfect. Apparently we’d be raw-dogging consciousness today.
I decided breakfast might improve things, so I put bread in the toaster. The toaster immediately tripped the breaker. Everything went dark. I stood in the kitchen holding a butter knife and whispered, “Interesting strategy, Tuesday.”
After restoring power, I discovered the toast had somehow burned despite the toaster being without electricity for most of its journey. That’s talent.
By 8:00, I was already running late. I couldn’t find my keys. I checked the counter, my purse, my pockets, the bathroom and eventually the refrigerator because at this stage I wasn’t ruling anything out. I finally found them hanging from the front door. Outside. Where they had apparently spent the night guarding the house from absolutely nobody.
Excellent.
I got into the car. Low fuel light. Of course. Because why would Past Me have gotten gas yesterday when she could leave that delightful little adventure for Present Me?
Past Me is a bitch.
At the gas station, the pump wouldn’t accept my card. Declined. I tried again. Declined. My banking app showed plenty of money. I tried another pump. DECLINED. I marched inside ready to defend my financial honour.
The cashier looked at my card. Then looked at me.
“Ma’am, that’s your library card.”
There are moments in life when dignity quietly packs a suitcase and leaves. This was one of them.
I paid for the gas and bought myself a coffee. Things were looking up. That’s when I put the coffee on the roof of my car.
You already know where this is going.
Approximately four minutes later, I merged onto the road and heard a strange thump. Then I watched my coffee perform what can only be described as an Olympic-level dismount behind me.
I actually whispered, “No.”
The universe whispered back, “Oh, we’re just getting started.”
Around noon, I decided I deserved lunch. I ordered a sandwich. No onions. I was very clear about this. My sandwich arrived containing enough onions to overthrow a small government.
I removed them.
Underneath the onions?
More onions.
They had layered them. Someone had built an onion lasagna inside my sandwich. I ate it anyway because by this point hunger had defeated principle.
Then I dropped mustard on my shirt. Not a little mustard – a mustard event, a mustard incident. Future generations would speak of it.
By mid-afternoon, I had reached that special emotional state where every minor inconvenience feels like a personal attack. My phone battery died. The pen I needed stopped working. I walked into a doorframe that had been in the exact same location for years.
Then I dropped something, bent over to pick it up and dropped something else. While retrieving that, I hit my head on the table.
I remained crouched on the floor for several seconds.
Not hurt.
Just reconsidering civilization.
Eventually, I made it home. I wanted nothing more than comfortable clothes, food and silence. I opened the front door and the dogs greeted me like I’d returned from a twelve-year expedition. One was carrying a sock. Another had somehow acquired a cardboard box.
The third was standing suspiciously still.
Experienced dog people know this is the dangerous one.
I looked around. “Okay. What did you do?”
Nothing.
I took another step.
Still nothing.
Then I saw it.
The garbage can was on its side. The kitchen floor looked like raccoons had hosted Coachella. Paper towels. Food wrappers. Something unidentifiable stuck to the cupboard.
One dog immediately left the room. The second suddenly became extremely interested in his own foot. The third looked me directly in the eyes.
He had absolutely no regrets.
I dropped my purse.
“OF COURSE.”
And then, because apparently my nervous system had finally reached maximum capacity, I started laughing. Not normal laughing. The slightly unhinged kind where you have to lean against the counter because you’ve realized resistance is pointless.
The dogs stared at me. I stared at the garbage.
And suddenly the whole day became hilarious.
The vomit. The toast. The library card. The airborne coffee. The onion fortress. The mustard catastrophe. The doorframe assault.
All of it.
I ordered pizza, changed into pajamas and left the garbage on the floor for ten more minutes because it had already been there for God knows how long and apparently we were all comfortable with that arrangement.
When the pizza arrived, I carried it very carefully into the living room.
Very carefully.
Because I’d learned things today.
I sat down, opened the box, took one beautiful bite and heard a strange noise from the kitchen.
I stopped chewing.
The dogs stopped moving.
We all listened.
CRASH.
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
Silence.
I pointed toward the kitchen without getting up.
“Whatever just happened in there is tomorrow’s problem.”
And for once, the universe apparently agreed. Because nothing else went wrong.
Mostly because I went to bed at 8:42.
You can’t ruin my day if I’m unconscious.
Checkmate, universe.
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