Pickles & Dimes

Bladder: I gotta pee.

Brain: Look, we just passed a restroom 30 feet ago. We’re not going by another one for at least another 2 hours.

Bladder: Aw, man.

Brain: That’s why I told you to go earlier.

Bladder: I didn’t have to go earlier.

Brain: You just think you have to go because you’re cold.

Stomach: I’m hungry!

Brain: No, you’re not. You can’t be. You just ate.

Nerve: Someone keeps pinching me!

Neck: He started it.

Nerve: I did not!

Brain: ARGH! Everybody shut UP!

Left leg: Someone keeps kicking me!

Right leg: But I’m bored. And jittery.

Bladder: All that kicking makes me have to pee.

Brain: Oh, jesus! Everybody shut up or I’m turning this body around and heading home.

Everybody: Sounds good to me.

Oh my God, Friday, did you get LOST?

Today I have to give a presentation at work, which I am mildly freaking out about. It’s about direct marketing, which, zzzzzz, and it’s scheduled for 2:00, which in my book is during Friday afternoon hours and therefore sucks.

But the presentation’s only to fellow coworkers and I’ve read the required books and prepared the obligatory PowerPoint presentation with the gratuitous talking points, and…I’m wearing my new red shoes with a black blazer that makes me look extra skinny even though I bought this blazer my freshman year of college and it still has shoulder pads.

Friday is now also the day where I am the unwilling participant in the Office Chain of Command, which consists of Lt. Lazy not dealing with client issues until Friday and then quickly shuffling the project to Captain Procrastination, who then takes a 3-hour lunch before passing it on to Major Timewaster, who talks with everyone in the building before passing it on to Colonel Promiseseverything, who lets the customer move the deadline up by 4 hours and then hands the project off to General Hyperventilation, who throws it at me with wild gesticulations and inadequate oxygen, while giving me approximately 3 minutes to edit something that should take 45 minutes.

I also tweaked something in my neck/shoulder area so badly that it was nearly impossible to back out of the driveway this morning, as I couldn’t move my head to the right at all. And washing my hair was only possible after I used my hands to prop back my head.

I blame Abby, because she was up on the bed ALL NIGHT, which meant I spent my sleeping hours on my right side and only on my right side, because I have slowly become Pavlov-conditioned to not move when she’s on the bed.

But, after Abby almost choked to death last night – a frightening 5-minute period where I pounded her between the shoulder blades while contemplating how I would perform the Heimlich while she drooled and lurched and, at one point, began convulsing before finally uttering the loudest barking noise I’ve ever heard and swallowing the obstruction – I kept her in my sights at all times and even touched her in places she frowns upon, like her belly and back paws, just so I could hear her hiss or growl or meow (hoarsely) at me. After that scare, I’ll gladly sacrifice a pinched nerve to know she’s OK.

This morning, I tiptoed into the garage to start my car, already skittish with the very good possibility of confronting one, if not four, mouse carcasses.

(Our garage has some entry point that allows 32782397 mice into it every year, and our four traps are definitely earning their keep, despite the fact that once, they caught a live mole and scarred Jason and I for life.)

Today there were no bodies to stare at for five minutes before determining that yes indeed, they are dead; and no traps to grab with my eyes squeezed shut before holding them as far away from my body as possible and emptying them unceremoniously into the trash.

But, I’m still going to use my Mouse Expulsion Revulsion as the reason I totally screamed like a girl when I opened my car door to find the Hand holding the Thing on my front seat.

I’ve been looking for some red shoes. And I am not a shoe person; in fact, I own 9 pairs of winter-suitable shoes and/or boots, and 5 pairs are black. The remaining 4 pairs are brown. Clearly I am not a shoe maven.

But I want to be. I can name one pair of cute shoes I own; coincidentally, they were purchased at a place whose name didn’t end in “Ayless” or “Arget.” And they cost more than $20, my usual budgetary bouncer.

But lately, I’ve been seeing people wearing white shirts and black pants with a red necklace and red heels and it looks REALLY, REALLY COOL. And last week, I bought a red necklace. Obviously, I needed red shoes.

My annoying perfect red shoe quest was highly specific:

• Red, but not too bright or dark
• No pointy toes
• Not shiny
• No stupid buckles or buttons
• Must have only a 2 to 2.5-inch heel
• No stilettos
• Must be comfortable
• Must not be freaked out by the idea of rooming with 9 pairs of black and/or brown boring shoes

I’ve been to at least four different places. Nothing. Then today I zipped over to the nearest DSW on my lunch hour. And I knew something great was about to happen when I saw DSW was right next to Leeann Chin, my favorite lunch spot. And after two missteps (ha ha – get it?), as soon as I slipped on the third pair, I knew.

I had found my perfect red shoes. On sale.

I also found a great pair of brown leather boots to replace the ones I’m wearing today. Boots that feature a zipper about to do their best Incredible Hulk impersonation and tear away from the seam completely. Thanks, calves!

Afterwards, I stopped at Leeann Chin to pick up lunch, and the counter guy gave me a knowing nod and said, “Out shopping, huh?” like I was some bored suburban housewife, which irked me, since I am NOT A SHOE MAVEN. I thought I had established that already.

But then my fortune cookie said: “You will become an accomplished writer,” which is the coolest fortune I’ve ever gotten – ever, so everything was OK.

Plus, perfect red shoes!

(Imagine them in red, please.)

EDITED TO ADD: Red!