WTF Wednesday

You ever have one of those weeks that just kicks your ass?  The kind that everything seems to be going wrong or getting on your nerves?  And then the week just culminates into one significant moment that perfectly sums up exactly how you feel?

I was having just one of those weeks.  Every day there was some little hassle that was crawling under my skin.  If it wasn’t the stresses at work, it was the housework that needed to get done.  If it wasn’t the housework, it was that dinner was ruined.  I know I’ve used the metaphor before, but it really felt like God had pinned a “Kick Me” sign on my back, and Fate and Opportunity were taking turns.

But it all came together on Wednesday.

After a long day of work, I finally made it home.  I went to the kitchen sink to rinse out the Tupperware containers I had used for lunch when something caught my eye.  Not one, or two, but a half dozen of ants suddenly sprang to life and began scattering around the sink and drain.   Uuuuuuugh, I thought, that pest control lady we used to have has definitely put a plague on this house.  Maybe we should’ve listened to her born-again Christian rhetoric after all…. I turned the nozzle of water on them and just dropped the plastic containers into the sink, annoyed.

Joe saw the state I was in and kindly took me in his arms, giving me a warm hug.

“Why don’t I take care of dinner?  What are you in the mood for?” he asked sweetly.

“Chinese,” I said without even thinking.

He immediately began looking online at reviews for Chinese food take-out places near us and settled on one that was highly rated.  It was a bit of a hike, so we hoped it would be worth it. 

When we got back home, we began piling our plates with steaming lumps of chicken, noodles, rice, and veggies, and settled ourselves in front of the TV.  I took my first bite and…blah.  Not terrible, but not great either.  I ate more because at this point I was so hungry I didn’t care.  And then I took a bite into what I can only hope was the chicken’s trachea and spit it back out.  I was done, in more ways than one.

We settled back into the sofa, curled up into each other as we lackadaisically watched TV.  I was finally beginning to feel settled, as if I had regained my composure and sanity. 

And then I had to pee.  Damnit.  One thing I’ve learned about being pregnant is when you got the urge, you better surge (or else you might splurge).  So I disentangled my legs, hoisted myself up, and made my way to our bathroom.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, I sat down and suddenly I heard it.

Crrrackkk.

WTF, I think.  What the f*** was that?  I stood up and turned around.  The hinge to one side of the toilet seat completely snapped and had been pushed to one side.  I stared back in disbelief.  Now, with it’s toilet-seat tongue sticking out, it appeared even the toilet was razzing me.

That’s it.  Game over, man.

I walked out of the bathroom, defeated, and collapsed to the floor, a la, Lloyd Christmas from Dumber and Dumber (“I got robbed by a sweet old lady on a motorized cart,” Christmas lamented).  Joe came running in and helped me back to my feet, but I avoided his eyes.

“I broke the toilet seat,” I muttered in near hysterics.

“Aww, come now.  I’m sure you didn’t,” he said jovially patting my arm and then walked back to the scene of my crime.  From the bathroom, I heard, “Well, now how did you do that?” Joe asked, perplexed.

It was the final injustice, the last nail in the coffin, the ultimate exclamation point to put at the end of a suck-y week.  I broke a toilet seat.  

Soooo, how’s your week going??