Sometimes, it’s not worth it

There are times in life when you just “shoulda-stood” in bed. This is probably one of those.

The day started off badly. All my underwear was in the hamper … dirty. Now, I am not a delicate creature. Underwear is not a choice. Sturdy underwear is a necessity. I don’t wear my pajamas to work, and with the Coronavirus pushback of the filing deadline for tax season, I have a lot of people who come to see me in my virtual office on the front porch … most wearing masks … no one wearing pajamas. At least I am wearing clothes … and the last piece of clean underwear found in the back of the drawer … just in case you were wondering.

Mother would be proud of me. She insisted that we’d be sorry if we were in a wreck and someone commented on the state of our underwear. That was back in the days of little girls’ short dresses and white cotton panties with eyelet trim. They had to be clean … at least when you left the house … before the devastating wreck when you and your clean panties made it to the hospital.

Anyway, I managed the first difficulty and moved on to the next. I’ve been so busy, that the dogs have been neglected, so I decided to let them go with me on my rounds this morning. Just a quick trip to the pharmacy and the post office. Dixie is a Dachshund-Feist mix who, like her breed can be awfully feisty. Brandy, my friend’s dog who is staying with me is a big dog. Enough said. The backseat was full of excitement. To add to the fun, I rolled down the windows halfway so the wind could damage their eyes and coat the nearby cars with dog hair. No, I did it because Dixie loves it. Brandy could care less and was irritated by Dixie running back and forth between windows.

Things didn’t go as planned. The pharmacy took a little too long, and the clerk didn’t give the expected dog biscuits. Brandy moaned, and Dixie drooled down the side of the car. On the way to the post office, I realized I had just enough gas to get halfway there. So, with warnings and threats, we stopped at the gas station. They stayed in the car. My card “stayed” in the machine. Finally getting the gas in the tank, the card back in my hand, and the dog drool off the gas nozzle, we were on our way.

I realized I couldn’t take the dogs inside. There was no way the people inside would consider them “service” dogs. Although I needed the ser-vice, taking the dogs inside was not the answer. They weren’t happy but waited for me to go inside. The mail wasn’t there. I was picking up mail for my friend who is staying with me, and it seems that a month has gone by, and the mail is now being delivered to his house again … giving rise to the need to drive ten miles out and back to pick up the latest pen-pal letters from Publisher’s Clearinghouse.

I was supposed to pick up lunch on the way home but decided to take the “girls” home first. I figured those chicken-strip sandwiches would be a too much for them. I’m not sure that I’ve ever “not-wanted” a chicken-strip sandwich more than today at noon, but I made good on my promise. I got the sandwiches and rewarded myself with ice cream and half a Hershey bar.

The only thing that can be said about this morning was that the afternoon got worse. Next time, I’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.