Rough Day

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Today was supposed to be, if not enjoyable, then at least uneventful.  I went to bed at either 12:30 or 1:30 last night (I can't remember the first numbers, just the ones after the colon), and set my alarm for 9:15 am, perfect for my 10:55 Research, Writing, and Analysis (aka RWA).  I am rudely awakened at 8:48 by my phone ringing.  I see it's my mom, so I make little effort to disguise my sleep voice.  This is the conversation that followed:

Me (croaks): Hello?
Mom:  Hey, hon, were you asleep?
Me (slightly irritated): Yes.
Mom:  My car won't start this morning.  Can you take me to work?
Me (mind whizzing, calculating what I need to throw in a bag, already making plans to do hair and make up at my mom's office): Yeahfinegottago.

I hang up and let the puppers out to potty while I go to the bathroom.  As I'm coming awake, I realize I'm getting those tell-tale cramps.  Super.  I knew the big P was coming, since I peeled off my BC patch on Sunday, but I was hoping it would hold off until Thursday.  No dice.

I let Lilly back inside, and then start throwing my get-ready gear into my super cute Lilly tote that my mom gave me for Christmas:
In goes the straightener, the Vera Bradley Choo Choo bag (pictured below - it's fabulous and everyone should get one) that holds my everyday face, and my deodorant.
All this stuff takes about ten minutes to do.  Then, I hear the phone ringing again, so I dash to get it.  It's Mom.

Mom: Hey, sugar.  What time is your class?
Me (still irritated): 11.
Mom:  Oh, sweetie, don't worry about me, then.  I can get Dad to come back and get me.

I decline this, knowing that having to leave the office will only serve to piss the big guy off and I want him in an excellent mood while he and Mom are deciding the fate of the $731.65.

Me: No, it's fine.  I'm already halfway ready.  I have to go.  Bye.

Now that the bag is packed and I'm dressed (this takes next to no time since I had already planned on wearing a very cute top I bought yesterday), I move on to the backpack.  Out come Contracts and Torts and in go RWA and Property.  The laptop is also popped in and I toss my six multicolored highlighters into the bag, along with MyAgenda.

At this point, Lilly is starting to get sad because she knows I'm about to leave, and I haven't had the chance to give her her Good Morning cuddle like I usually do.  In a move that is surely predictive of the kind of mother I'll be, I give her a Greenie to assuage my guilt.  A quick kiss on the noggin and I'm out the door.  It's 9:03.  I'm leaving my house for the day a full twelve minutes earlier than when I thought I'd even be awake.

I'm still kind of irritated, but I don't want to make Mom feel guilty, both because she's a pretty fab mom and because I want the seven-hundred-thirty-one-dollars-and-sixty-five-cents.  That's how I think of it by the way.  Not "the money" or "the check" but the total amount.  It takes me about ten minutes to get to the house, and I honk to let her know I'm out there.  She comes out very quickly, so props to her, and climbs in.  She's very apologetic, but I wave her off.  We chitchat on the way to the interstate and the subject turns to the moolah. 

Even with my dismal mathematical skills, I conclude that I probably should give the money to the parents, since it's really a partial refund for the $750 supposedly nonrefundable seat deposit they paid back in January.  I'm disappointed, naturally, as $731.65 would have totally covered landscaping my frontyard, but fair is fair.  (As I'm typing this, I'm still secretly hoping Mom will prevail, as she is pulling for me to get to keep the money, while Dad thinks it should come back to them.)

We drive on to the office, get out and go upstairs.  I march into the bathroom and set up shop.  So far, not a bad morning, considering. 

Then the fit hit the shan. 

I'm about halfway through straightening my hair when, I'm guessing, I step onto the cord that had pooled on the floor.  The straightener slips through my hands and catches.  It burns the crap out of my pinkie and the meaty part between your pointer and thumb.  I drop it and immediately start tearing up.  I grasp my wrist (I'm not entirely sure why, since it was my hand that was burned and not my wrist) and hurry to my mom's office.  I can feel the tears welling up and even though my hand doesn't really really hurt yet, I knew it was going to.  Burns are bitches like that.

She's on the phone but takes one look at my face and tells whoever she was talking to that she'll call him back.  I start to cry now, like I always do when I have my mom's attention and I'm hurt, and she takes me into the kitchen area and sticks my hand under the faucet.  As the stream makes contact with my hand, it really starts to hurt, more from the pressure of the water smacking into the skin than anything.  She fills a bowl with cold water and I dunk my hand in.  The pain is gone, thank God, but I can't wander around with a bowl of water all day.

At this point, Michelle, one of my mom's coworkers, comes in and suggests putting mustard on the burn.  I have never heard of this technique, but every time I take my hand out of the water, I start crying again, so we coat my hand with mustard.  On reflection, I don't think this did any good, but whatever. 

We then go to the kitchen staff to get some burn ointment, which we put on my hand.  This stuff actually helps and I'm able to go back to the bathroom and finish getting ready, though not without snapping at my mom when she starts to do my makeup in an unacceptable manner.  I know, not my finest behavior, but I was tired, and my hand was hurting.

I finish getting ready, stick a bandaid on my burns, and head to class.  My hand is feeling better, so I decide to take the bandaid off.  Big mistake.  Exposing it to the air just made me want to cry.  There I am, in the back row of RWA, tearing up and making all sorts of really attractive faces.  Class could not get out soon enough.  I was supposed to go to a PAD interest meeting but I just couldn't.  I asked one of my new law school friends to get the info for me and I go home, stopping first at Walgreen's for some bandages, burn pads, and first aid tape.

Now, five hours later, I'm about to go fetch the mother, who had kindly agree to type up my case briefs for me, though clearly, this is no longer necessary...Hm.  Maybe she'll make my bed for me, since that will require more than just the three nonburned fingers on my right hand.


  1. Oh no! Bless your little heart- I am so sorry you had such a rough morning. I burnt my finger while cooking dinner the other day and my word does it ever hurt like a witch! And I think its worse bc it doesn't look bad so I seem like a big baby. Here's hoping you get to keep the check and have a better day tomorrow!

  2. You poor thing!! That was a terrible day. I hope that Miss Lilly gave you extra kisses when you got home.

    And the mustard part? I'm just not sure about that. I've never heard of any such thing. Hmmm...

  3. Y'all are so sweet, and she definitely did, T! I have recaptured my zen and am feeling much more optimistic! :)


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