Friday, January 28, 2011

We Are Fairly Certain I Am Not Bi-Polar



At work this morning, you know, saving the president from assassination attempts, I was feeling kinda blue.

So I texted Mr.V.

Tell me something happy?, I texted.

He texted back:

I am going to kill myself. Worst day ever.


That wasn't a very good job, I texted back.

Later he came to pick me up from work. (Black Ops let out early today).

He was in a mood. He snapped at me. (What did I ever do to him? What, with me always baking the casseroles and mixing the Tom Collins' and wearing the red lipstick?). It seemed everything had gone wrong all morning and now the car wouldn't start.

I didn't snap back, I just went all self-righteously angry. You know that one. It's cold reserve plus smug. Pinch of real broad.

The car started. I sent my disgruntled husband off to work with a smoothly arched brow and nary a word of parting. (Because of the righteous anger, recall?)

Indy was in the car and it was warm. We rolled down the windows and turned up the Jackson 5. Drove to the store.

Not twenty minutes after parting in anger, I get another text. From Mr.V.

Can you please get some honey, it said.

Betimes my wicked streak is strong.

Get some what? I texted, pretending an apostrophe.

Honey, he replied.

Yes, Honey? I texted.

I was giggling something fierce in the ice cream and pizza aisle.

That was when Mr.V stopped texting altogether. Obviously because he could not match my wit.

Out in the parking lot, the wind snatched away Indy's pink and purple balloons. They were tied to plastic weights, but the wind was strong. I ran after them, not looking for cars. I jumped just a moment too late. It seemed they were gone. But then, yards ahead, they began to swoop down. I was in the crosswalk between the store and the parking spots. Cars were stopped to avoid hitting me, running around in circles. Everyone watching the redhead battle the wind for the balloons. They swooped and dove, I jumped--and caught them.

"Good job mom!" Starbuck cried. "I was almost crying when I saw them blow away."

"Mommy saved the day," I told her, victorious, grinning, offering her my spoils.

"No," she said. Her voice easy, definitive. "You're not a PowerPuff Girl."

The universe maintains balance, you know what I mean?

I am Vesuvius and if you have always wanted to be married to me, now's a good time to ask my husband.


  1. Good job, mom! But she's right, you're no Powerpuff Girl.

    Your texts made me laugh, though.

  2. LOL!!! Funny post! I was so tickled at the thought of you giggling in the ice cream and pizza aisle.
    Hmmmm.....I wonder where you got that "cold reserve plus smug" ;-)
    (Betimes I have been known to exhibit same.)
    You'll *always* be a Powerpuff Girl to *me*.



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