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This morning I was getting ready for class while Dr Poop, who is on vacation this week, snoozed away. I'd already been up for 2 hours, studying and reviewing material for my summer physics class (one year of physics in 8 weeks- jealous?) so I was at least dressed and somewhat caffeinated when I went in to rouse him, but I was by no means put together.
Now, we all know I'm a big hot mess. Just kind of a disaster. Fine, whatever, I'm okay with it. I mean, it's not like I can HIDE it, right? But I really do TRY to maintain an appearance of normalcy. I fail a lot.
Like this morning. I was brushing my teeth while I multitasked, washing dishes and putting my school books away. I leaned over to reach a folder and my toothbrush, which is surprisingly heavy, fell out of my mouth. Grosso. Fortunately, my keen instincts kicked in and I caught it between my shoulder and my face because my hands were full. Even grosser. So then I had to go to the bathroom and wash the toothpaste off of my face and the little sweater I was wearing to work. I thought I'd done a really thorough job too, like really compensated for the fact that most people choose to catch things with their hands, but not me, no sir, if god didn't want me to catch things with my face he wouldn't have made my cheeks so big, you know? Anyway. I thought I'd cleaned my sweater really well.
Then I went in to my room and climbed in to bed next to Dr Poop, who rolled over and told me that the birds who live on my windowsill are bastards. Right he is. "What time is it?" he asked. "Almost seven," I said. "I have to leave for school soon."
"That means I have to leave too."
"Yeah. I don't want you alone with my stuff."
"Okay." He sat up, a little more alert but really, not awake. He's kind of like a toddler or Bob Dylan when you wake him up. He might need a minute or two to adjust to the world, and the whole process will go faster if you give him a juice box.
I handed him his belongings in order to hurry things along a bit. As he was taking them from me, he squinted and grabbed my hand, extending my arm fully. "What is that on your sweater?"
"Oh. Um, well I-"
He gently brushed at the huge white smear of crap I'd neglected on my shoulder. "You have stuff on you," he said helpfully. And then. AND THEN. He said completely seriously and without any derision or facetiousness, "What happened here? Did you drool, or sneeze on yourself?"
Apparently, I am so calamitous that my significant other assumed that the spot of bother on my sleeve was, for lack of a better word, snot. Usually I feel quite the walking disaster; at that moment I felt like Pig-Pen. I guess I seem like the kind of girl who could sneeze on herself and not let it be a day-ruiner.
Or, he's so accustomed to my self-imposed shitshow presentation that the thought of me drooling on myself, whilst awake, and not feeling any compulsion to hide or apologize for it, is not a ridiculous one.
Either way. I don't think it makes me look very good.Labels: I'm hopeless and really starting to feel bad about it |
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| 6 Comments: |
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It's nice when you can find someone who accepts you for that "hot mess" that you are.
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Sorry, sweet thing. I can only say that if you were my girl, I would totally know the difference between toothpaste and snot. Even first thing in the morning. Even if it were snot-flavored toothpaste.
I know he's a doctor and all, but jeez I'm all ANONYMOUS and everything! What's he got that I haven't got besides a face, a career, some personality, a life, and the inability to appreciate snotpaste first thing?
~ Piney
Word verification: "inkiesh"
No kidding. "Theshe ish the inkiesh markersh, like, ever!"
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I think, by your pictures (your voice in the bird video scared me) that you're absolutely beautiful! Not a pigpen, not a hot mess, none of that. So you're a bit on the clumsy side - everyone is, but they just don't want to admit it.
And you know what else? You know you're beautiful too - you speak ill of yourself because you just feel guilty for being so good-looking when your girlfriends are dogs. (your college buddies) It's not your fault you're beautiful, just like it's not their fault they're ugly.
Take credit where it's due.
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Dr. Poop has access to the blog yet or no? Hahaha... you rock. Never let anyone make you think otherwise ;)
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meg, omg, it's ME, meg, ME TOO, ALL THE EFFING TIME! i am crying here, laughing so hard i am CRYING.
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Name: A Lover and a Fighter
Home: New York, NY
About Me: "It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information."
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It's nice when you can find someone who accepts you for that "hot mess" that you are.