But then again, we have noticed Fridays seem to be blah day, haven’t we?
I think part of the reason for the lack of ranty is the hormonalness (Okay, skip this part is you do not want to read about a woman-y issue relating to hormones)(see, once I open those TMI floodgates…But I swear, I promise and swear, I will never ever be one of those women who feels the need to blather on to all and sundry about the current state of her ladyparts. All I will say, just this once, is after having the Mirena coil put in I’ve noticed a dstinct and horrible upswing in the hormonal depressions. And that is all I will ever say on that subject.)
(You can start reading again now. And we will never speak of this again.)
Actually, it’s not really accurate to say I have nothing to rant about. I simply have nothing to rant about that any of you want to hear. Shall I delight and amuse you with tales of how I know springtime is coming because everything smells like poo? Because this area is so, so very rural, and the fields are being fertilized, the scent of manure hangs heavy over my town and its environs.
Seriously. I went to Princess’s school today to sell tickets to a school event (because I’m all PTA Queen and all, yo) and right after we got there, as we stood in the lobby, faery informed me she needed a diaper change. (Actually, she didn’t tell me, she told one of the other ladies, by way of greeting:
I couldn’t tell the difference between her diaper and the regular air. Which I just realized, may be a bit too TMI as well. Is there no escaping? Have I become one of those horrible people who tells you all about their internal workings within five minutes of meeting you?
Or I could tell you how people keep parking on the side of my house, where I always park, and it’s really pissing me off. And the other day I came home from the grocery store and someone had parked directly in my spot, in front of my garage, and as I pulled up behind them (oh yeah, right on their ass), the woman whose car it was appeared, and we shared the following exchange:
Her: Have I parked in the wrong place?
Me: Well, that is my spot.
Her: Do you want me to move?
About which I am still flabbergasted. Do I want her to move? No, I just told her it was my spot because I’m so proud of it.
I actually said something like, “Don’t bother” or something, and she then informed me she would only be there for ten minutes or so. I’m still not sure if she was suggesting I sit in my car and wait until she was ready to relinquish my spot, or if she wanted me to go inside and sit around in my coat and shoes until it was time for me to come out and move my car.
Which do you suppose?
And do you have any tales of minor irritations to share? (Okay, I call dibs on “Tales of Minor Irritations” as a title. For a book or a blog. I made it up, it’s mine! Mine!)