Today is, "How many ways are there to completely piss me off to the point where I want to pick up an anvil and drop it on your head like you were Wiley Coyote?" day. "You," is subjective to whatever moment I happen to be in. It started at Tim Horton's where I finally figured out why half of my bagel is always sopping wet with butter and the other half is so dry it goes down like sandpaper. The idiots only butter the bottom half! Then, they put the top on, cut it in quarters and wrap it up. I wanted to say, "Listen, ace, butter both g.d. halves or I'm coming over this counter," but wisely kept my trap shut. It was early and I knew I could not have put the preceding politely. Then the top to my coffee leaked and I spilled some on my cream colored sweater and the very most sensitive part of my lap. By this time I was back in the car, where Mark swiftly hit the locks and began moving too fast for me to jump out and make good on my ugly (but silent) threat. We were heading to Rochester for an appointment, so I leaned my head back after making damn sure the freaking bagel was all the way down my throat. I didn't want to choke to death in my sleep. When we woke up I was, 'better.' Sort of. I read a book while waiting for Mark to complete his appointment and that was pleasant except for the guy to my right who couldn't sit his ass down for more than 15 seconds at a time.
"Little too much caffeine this morning," I asked. He seemed to have no idea at all to what I was referring. Moron. I drove on the way home as Mark was under the influence of some really good drugs that have a tendency to put grizzly bears to sleep. Mark kept insisting he was fine, that they had given him the, 'lowest dose possible.' OK.
"Did you feel anything," I asked.
"Not a thing," he said, grinning like a coked up circus clown.
"Then you got the full dose," I told him.
"No," Mr. Happy Face said. "No. I told them to give me very little."
"Okey doke." There was no sense arguing when I knew he'd be asleep two minutes into our ride home. We rode along in silence and I glanced at him to see if he was out. Not yet. He was staring out the window at the passing winter landscape with the silliest damn grin I had seen since early November when I received the same meds for the same reason.
"You know," he said on a great big sigh. "I do feel like I've got a pretty good buzz on."
"Are you tired," I asked.
"Not at all," he said. I nodded and turned to look at him again. He was still sitting straight up but was completely asleep, his eyes hammered shut. It was pretty cute and since I thought so, I figured my irritation was over for the day. I'd finally woken up. I was wrong. As we left the thruway a black VW tried to cut me off heading for the Easypass lane. I sped up (I drive a Chevy truck - puhlease), and went through the exit lane with this little bug riding my tail. She tried again to cut me off and all the irritation of the morning slammed back into my head in the form of murderous rage. Not a good place for that to happen, I realize. Luckily, the day a Chevy truck can't outrun a stupid little car like that is the day I go and get my Bobby Ewing Mercedes. I sped up with one hand on the wheel and the other one flashing hand signals at the b*$#@ driving the bug. She turned left the same as I did, in the lane next to me. I spoke some special words at the top of my lungs and might have given into my rage and followed her but I was hungry and there was a great big sign inviting me in to a fun place.
"Ooh," said I, all ten-year-old-happy. "Let's go to Friendly's." Mark just looked at me in his drug induced mellowness. "Yeah, shut up. I see the irony. Would you rather I follow the woman in the bug and beat her bloody THEN go?" He just shook his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."