Linking up with DearBabyG for my weekly whine.
On Monday I made an awesome curry. Popped it in the slow cooker, patted myself on the back (it was more of a back scratch, but it still counts) because I had dinner done and dusted by 1pm.
I then realised there was zero vege content beyond the tomatoes and the onion. Garlic at a push. And therefore my kids will resemble whatever those little mini people are in The Lord of The Rings, on account of vitamin and mineral deficiencies causing stunted growth. FFS.
Rather than quickly add some veg, I went shopping.
Which is where mofo karma stepped in, FFS.
Upon leaving the shopping centre, I realised that I could not find my rings. And that's not another Lord of The Rings reference either.
Sparkly eternity ring - gone
Solitaire engagement ring - gone
Plain wedding band - gone, myeh
They have been loose for some time now, because the only place I seem to lose a noticeable amount of weight is my fingers, FFS.
I often twirl them around my finger as a reminder that they are all still there. But there was no twirling on my way home from the shopping centre on Monday.
So I swerve the car into the next lane (apologies little red hatchback driven by crusty old dude who appeared to touch the rosary beads hanging from his rear view mirror after I corrected back into my own lane).
Immediately, I head to Daycare and ask if anyone's seen my rings. Cue snickering from my girls in the front office who have juvenile senses of humour to match my own.
No luck, but Mstr3 has been complaining of a sore tummy, and spent the morning dry coughing, almost as if there's something stuck in his throat, FFS.
I was instructed to buy a sieve and place it over the toilet, hoping for the best and thinking of England or whatever you're meant to do while sifting through shit. FFS.
Oh, and get thee some industrial strength rubber gloves. Two pairs. FFS.
Return to shopping centre and approach Centre Management about my missing rings, who snort/laugh at the prospect of someone handing them in. FFS.
Head to supermarket to buy shit sifting supplies, FFS.
Receive call from #1Hubby, just seeing how I'm going. Cluey bastard. FFS.
Lie to him and tell him I'm super awesome like always. Do that thing where you pretend the service is breaking up, just so I can get off the phone and resume my frenzied state of panic.
Cue karma's next piss take at my personal expense.
I return to the car to find a big ass bird has diahorrea-ed all over my car door. My door. Not the passenger door. Not a rear door. Not the car next to me. My door. FFS.
Phone rings while attempting to wipe bird shit from car with a single 1 ply tissue. Stumble in shock and anticipation that shopping centre or daycare have my rings, and slip, flat palm, into the bird shit, FFS.
Conjure up images of bird flu and death and microscopic visions of all the germs and toxic amoeba that are swimming around in the bird shit on my hand. Try not to panic as I consider amputation. It's my left arm, I'm right handed, I type fast enough to make do with only 1 hand. The plan is flawless until I realise that I could no longer sip cask wine while simultaneously typing, FFS.
Later that afternoon, and Mstr3 is home and crapping in loo via $2 shop sieve. NO. RINGS. ENOUGH. SAID. FFS.
Fret and panic, wonder what to tell #1Hubby when he gets home. Consider having marital relations in order to distract him. FFS.
Dinner time, serve up vege-free curry. #1Hubby hasn't noticed missing rings. Yet.
I bite down, and guess what chips my tooth? FFS.
I would've seen my rings sitting on top in the slow cooker, if only I'd gone back to add veg like I should've. FFS.
Karma is a mofo bitch.
|Sure, good karma for Management, but what about the Cleaner?
Moral of the story: always eat your veg. It will ensure you grow big and strong and don't resemble The Lord of The Rings extra's, and also, it may avert an epic day of being shat on from a great height. Literally and figuratively.