DON'T YOU HATE IT WHEN....

Don't you hate it when you are sitting at the kitchen counter on a Saturday morning, eating a healthy breakfast...okay a girl scout cookie...and reading the paper, the house is quiet because your husband has taken the kids to the state basketball tournament for the day, and you are all relaxed and feeling pretty good and still in your jammies and a Matt Damon movie is on the little kitchen tv and the doorbell rings and you look up and see your neighbor standing at the door?

Don't you hate it when you have to answer the door on a Saturday morning in your jammies with your hair going three different directions and you just know you have a little smudge of mascara under one or both eyes?

Don't you hate it when said neighbor smiles expectantly at you and hands you a garage door opener, and you have to say "ummm...er...I....well....I guess Kayla is taking care of your cats this week...?" And he says "Yeah, I talked to Paul; did he not tell you." And you get all hostile inside and decide your ARE NOT going to cover for this inconsiderate lapse on Paul's part, so you say sweetly and with a fake little chuckle "Um... No. No. He did not tell me." And then you go over the dates with him and take the little garage door opener and say goodbye and on your way back to the kitchen make a detour past a mirror - just to reassure yourself that you do, indeed look like death warmed over.

Don't you hate it when the mirror is SO PAINFULLY HONEST and does, in fact, reassure you that you MOST DEFINITELY look like death warmed over, with your hair going in all different directions, a little mascara remaining under your eyes, AAAAAAND a tiny dot of dried blood on your chin from the pimple you picked before bed last night? Don't you hate it when you're afraid to look at your teeth in the mirror for fear that you will have greeted your neighbor at the door, not only with the hair thing and the mascara thing and the blood thing, but with food in your teeth too? I mean there's just so much humiliation a person can take in one morning.

Don't you hate it when you have to call your husband on his cell and with a sweetness dripping in venom say "I guess Kayla's taking care of our neighbor's cats next week..." and he's all like apologetic and explains that the neighbor talked to him while he was shoveling snow ANNND he has the gall to ask if you covered for him and pretended he had told you and you have to say "Tuh. NO I did NOT cover for you" and then you have to go for the kill and ask "well, does Kayla know about this?" and he's all like "No, I forgot to tell her too...." and then you have to get just a tiny bit sarcastic and say like three times "well, you might want to tell her that she has a job next week. It would be nice for the person DOING THE JOB to know about the job"?

Don't you just hate when your Saturday starts like that?

Not that I'm irritated by it or anything. I'm just sayin'.....