The day started beautifully: the sun was shining, birds were chirping… Who am I kidding? It was before 5AM, my bladder was full to bursting, and I was too tired to get up. But I finally did, taking my thyroid pill as I passed into the facilities to do my business. I don’t know why–maybe because I’m somewhere between groggy and downright sleep-deprived all the time–but I thought it would be a good idea to go back to bed. I mean it’s a day off here, and all, you know? Sleep in a little bit, right?
I tried, but quarter to six nature came knocking again. Oh, for a bladder of greater capacity, or you know an extra kidney, you know? Most everyone else has two, but I came into the world with just one. Thanks, God! (I know it’s not Your fault, that it’s a fallen world, and all. But Your Word says that You knit me together in my mother’s womb, right? Did You, I don’t know, maybe miss a stitch? No, that’s crazy talk! You, in your sovereignty, knew I only needed one. And I’m thankful for it–because it works. My cup runneth over).
So, quarter to six I’m up again taking care of business. I get my daughter up so she can get herself ready for school. I head back to my bedroom so I can start the day with God by reading His Word. It’s been a hard slog because I’m in Jeremiah now, and let me tell you they don’t call him the weeping prophet for nothing. It’s nothing but doom and gloom for His kids, the children of Israel. It’s rough stuff.
What isn’t rough is my lovely wife offering to bring me coffee in bed. Ah, delicious brown juice of the bean, tis like Ambrosia to me. I sip, and sip again, and seems right with the world.
Until I hear a scream emanating from the upstairs bathroom. It seems my precious, precocious sweetie of an eight-year-old managed to overflow the toilet. I put my coffee down on the nightstand, and hightail it (in my skivvies, no less) to the bathroom. Opening the door, I’m greeted by a laminate floor awash in water.
Diarrhea water. Wading in, I grab the plunger and go to town. Getting the water to go down, I notice the handle is stuck, and jiggle it back to its fully upright and locked position. Now begins the fun of mopping up the sopping mess.
Did I mention that there isn’t a mop in the world big enough to deal the miasma I found myself standing in? No? Well fortunately for me my kids left a pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom; with those, about three bath towels, and ten minutes, I was able to soak up all the standing water.
Not so fast.
Coming downstairs, I found this sign:
Now isn’t that special? The water, as it is wont to do, found its way through the seemingly watertight laminate flooring down through some minute cracks and into the overhead exhaust fan.
In the downstairs bathroom!
Yay! Lucky me!
Could this day get any worse?
Turns out that, yes–yes, it could. How, you ask?
After getting my cleaning up the messes, and getting my daughter to school (she was almost, but not quite, late), I came back home to take a brief rest before heading out to the gym (my wife was out running errands). Ah, I thought, this day can only get better. Well, um, uh…
Did I mention that I’m behind on my laundry, and that I have clean shorts to workout in? So what’s an enterprising man to do under such circumstances? Grab a pair of swimming trunks, right? Seemed like a good idea at the time.
So there I am, sipping my coffee, sitting on the couch catching up on last night’s Better Call Saul. Ten minutes go by in a blink, and I realize I better get to the gym to get my cardio in before my bride returned home. Grabbing my coffee, a water bottle, my phone, and headphones, I head out the door. Now because the bottom lock on my front door is a little sticky, we always lock it before closing the door.
So I did.
No big deal, right? I mean the keys are in my pocket, right, like always?
Um, yeah. Not so much.
Getting out the car, it dawns on me: I’m still wearing swimming trunks! Trunks with one (count it: one!) pocket. And in it is one thing: my wallet.
My keys are inside, and I’m locked out! No big deal, I tell myself. My wife will be home soon. Just in case, I call her.
I get her voicemail.
I text her. As the song says, “No reply at all.” Her phone, kept on silent as always, is likely resting in the deepest recesses of her purse. I keep my cool. Checking out my front door, I decide there’s too much sun. Heading the back gate, I unlock it, and go into my backyard. There’s at least some shade on the patio. Sitting down down on the bench, I’m prepared (as I’m sure God intended) to contemplate the error of my ways. That is, I would be, were I not immediately assaulted by my son’s dog, Mongrel Molly, the wonderhound. This is the same dog who once headbutted me whilst putting out her food.
I tried to play it cool and aloof, but finally caved and gave her some good scratches while finishing Better Call Saul on my phone. At least it hasn’t gotten too hot here in Phoenix yet. But what is yonder call? It is the siren song of that second pint of coffee knocking on the walls of my bladder…
Have you ever had a day like that?
PS After my wife returned home, having finally received my
plaintive whiny pleading text messages after she rolled into the driveway, the day only got better. By better I mean that how could I possibly follow up my morning by anything other than a trip to the dentist? Because, of course, right?
Did you see that $1100 I left lying around? You didn’t? Oh, that’s right! Silly me! I don’t have it. That’s what the dentist told me I needed–$1100 worth of work. You may see at a freeway on ramp, or on your local street corner, with a sign:
“WILL WORK FOR DENTISTRY”