Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed. You know those
days
– everyone has them. No matter what you do, the day is doomed to
stink. Unfortunately, science has been unable to find a cause for
those days; they’re just a mystery.
Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed. You know those days – everyone has them. No matter what you do, the day is doomed to stink. Unfortunately, science has been unable to find a cause for those days; they’re just a mystery.
Take the day I had last week. I bounced out of bed. I felt … lighter. Like maybe a miracle had occurred overnight and my metabolism had sped up and I had actually lost weight while I slept. Or maybe I just laid off the Cheetos for a week – who can tell? In any event, I felt nearly thin.
And then I put my jeans on.
My trusty, always able to fit even on the fattest day jeans. And they were tight. Unbearably tight. You know the kind of tight I’m talking about. The kind where your spare tire morphs into a complete set of steel-belted radials and you can’t quite get the zipper past them. Yeah, that kind of tight. Let me tell you, that’s a very depressing tight. And it only gets worse.
Because you know once I tried to zip those pants up, I leaped onto the scale with a grace that most people sporting a full set of tires around their waist do not have. And my weight was the exact same weight it has been all summer long. Which in itself is a source of mystery … but still. Why the heck didn’t my pants fit? Why did I feel lighter on a day that I was completely the same? Did my weight shift overnight? Did the fat from other parts of my body suddenly migrate to my waist?
I don’t know. It’s a mystery. And it’s why I’ve been wearing sweats for a week. I just can’t risk trying on those pants again. It could put me into a depression that can only be lifted by consuming vast quantities of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And frankly, that’s a guarantee that those jeans will never zip again.
Another mystery is what I call the “Married … with Colds” mystery. On this day, two people wake up. They both have the stuffy nose, watery eyes and sore throats that can mean only one thing. They are coming down with a cold. But one person clearly has come down with a life-threatening super virus, created by evil scientists on an uncharted island who are bent on causing havoc and dominating the world by spreading this virus throughout the Earth’s population. Nothing can cure it. Not chicken soup. Not cold medicine. Not even hot tea and reruns of “Mythbusters.”
And the other person just has the sniffles. And by other person, obviously, I mean “me.” And by “sniffles,” obviously I mean that I woke up with the exact same cold my husband has, only mine of course isn’t the evil super virus. And my husband obviously has the super virus and cannot leave the bed for fear of spreading the virus throughout the planet. And since mine is clearly only the sniffles, I can leave the bed. To get him chicken soup. And tune the TV to “Mythbusters.”
Yeah, that’s a mystery all right. And it probably will never be solved.
The other mystery I like to call “Homework … What Homework?” In this mystery, a child – mine – goes to school. Throughout the day he manages to listen somewhat attentively to his teachers. But suddenly, when the homework assignments are given out my child becomes unable to hear the teacher’s voice or read the assignment on the whiteboard. And thus, my son is the only child in America – or at least in his classes – who believes he has no homework whatsoever and should just come home from school, eat a snack and then shoot some hoops.
And it gets worse. For when I say, “But you have homework. It’s on School Loop.” He will look at me with that look of pity mixed with condescension that only a tween can give and say, “Mom, I was there. We don’t have homework.” And if I say to him, “But I’ve spoken to other moms. You HAVE homework,” I will get the same look, followed by, “Maybe their kids do, but I don’t.”
Ah yes, it’s a mystery. And all we can do when we have a mystery day is hope like heck that the next morning all the planets align and our day is perfectly normal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m brave enough to try those jeans on again.
