So my friend Lana over at The Sharpest Pencil posted yesterday that she had the sads over the Melbourne Cup horses and she saw this article on Buzzfeed that made her laugh about an awkward moment by The Bloggess who then inspired others to share theirs in a round of sharing on Twitter which then went viral. This got me thinking about stuff which is same same but different.
Most recent of which happened actually this morning when I sneezed, blew heartily into a tissue which apparently was not properly attached to my nose so a large deposit from the deepest darkest recesses of my sinuses found its way into my cleavage. I literally could not believe what happened and checked twice. As I was in the gym I could not start wailing and flailing and digging in my boobs, so I rose like an adult and calmly walked to the bathroom. I flapped like a lunatic when I closed that door to the cubicle. Ughhhhhhh! Grossss!!!!! Why?????
Who does that actually even happen to? No-one. That’s who. No-one. But, I guess it happens to the same person that this happens to:
Both the dog and I simultaneously stood in poo a few weeks ago. The only person that noticed (damn those sinuses) was the dog washer Tom who was waiting for us at the house after we arrived home in my car. He kindly hosed us down. The Shame. It is somewhat unusual he said for the dog owner and the dog to stand in poo. I think Koda has a problem.
Last week I was about to jump into my Uber except it wasn’t my Uber. It was just a random guy picking up his girlfriend and her friends outside the restaurant where my friends had suggested I jump into his car. It was black. And clean. And I pushed the wrong button on the Uber App and had ordered Uber X instead of Uber Black. Bless, he played along until his girlfriend rushed up. [Got sufficiently crapped on afterwards by The Artist as I am not supposed to travel in Uber X – dangerous he says – does he not know I’m a ninja?]
Speaking of crapping, a few years ago in Thailand I crapped all over a waiter at the pool and told him under no circumstances could he serve me with a swastika on his ankle. The man looked at me like I was insane and for the duration of our stay I stalked off to the bar and got my own drinks. Huffing and puffing. As you do. Except it was a Buddhist symbol. I am an asshole – because why would a waiter in Thailand in 2010 have a swastika tattooed on his ankle?
Before I returned to the workforce in 2005 it was the end of the summer vacation and after visiting my dietician I took the kids swimming. In my excitement to let my best friend know about my weight loss success I sent off a text saying “lost 0.5kg’s at Arlene – go me!!!!!” Except it went to my future boss. Gracefully he replied that he was very proud of me. There is nothing worse people than watching that green line go as it’s sending and being powerless to stop it. I cannot, cannot believe that those text message people have not sorted out a solution yet to this. I mean how many lives have been ruined, ruined I tell you, with the bang of a button in error? And don’t even get me started on the email situation. Reply All Is The Devil.
On that note I must run and get my spawn from school (or from the bus stop closest to the house where the school bus ventures). Oh, and lunch. Because I was sooooo traumatised when I told The Artist that I was working from home today and he told me to stay away from the fridge. Yes – I told you I was going to blog about that.
Love and light