Uphill All The Way

Disclaimer: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here, of carefully constructed sentences, relevant points, or peaceful easy feelings.

 

If I were a cartoon or bit character in “Bewitched,” there’d totally be a dark cloud hovering over my head. I really need to look into this Sag-Scorp cuspy deal, because now I’m thinking there’s something to it. My signs are stuck in some sort of universe vortex and can’t get out.

 

My daily goings-ons today counted as minor and mom-like, but every single one presented a problem. Case(s) in point:

 

Early on, I promised Toots hot chocolate. (This, after she sadly noted that I work too much and vowed that when she grows up to be a “cop mom,” she’s not going to work.)

(So much for the public’s safety.)

(Then, she called my husband and after he asked what she’d be doing today, said, “Oh nothing. I’m with mommy and we’ll probably stay in the house all day.”)

 

OUCH.

 

So the hot chocolate, which I know doesn’t count as really “doing something,” but at least it’d put a check in my mom column, and the library. (See? I can’t even make sentences this week.)
We leave, slightly exhilarated, and stop at the coffee shop across the street from the library.

And.

It’s closed.

For.

No reason.

 

OK fine. I pick up my rock, tumbling quickly downhill, and push it back up the mountain.
And sure enough, across the parking lot, I spy a cupcake store. Promising, right? Cupcakes and hot chocolate? Like Sonny and Cher?

 

But no. No Sonny. No Cher. No. No. No. (Damn you universe vortex)

 

Then, back in the car to Honey Cafe, which sounds like a place that bathes its patrons in vats of hot chocolate, while Alice and Flo bicker goodnaturedly in the background. And guess what? It’s open! I follow the helpful “Park Here” sign, with the emblazoned RED ARROW and turn into the lot. It’d be a welcoming lot, really, if not for the huge warning signs alerting me to the fact that I CAN NOT PARK HERE and if I try, I will be shot, tarred, feathered, then dragged through town by a wild stallion. Normally, I’d be up for a little rough and tumble, but I’ve got the kids and as Toots will tell you, they’re already emotionally damaged by my never doing anything and working all the time, so I leave.

 

That is, I try to leave. See, it’s a small parking lot, quite narrow and sucketh of my ass, so I have to turn around. But there’s this truck, right? and it’s pissed that I’m in its personal space of manly vehicularness, so it’s not moving, and I can’t go anywhere. Right about this time, both kids begin to wail in the back seat and I’m about to rend my garments.

 

Finally, I manage to look so terrifyingly pissed off, that TruckAr, Great Big Dick of Fordopia, lets me pass.

 

And I exit the lot to find there’s no parking for Honey Cafe anywhere, despite the helpful, pointless PARK HERE sign, so I finagle a spot a few streets away, walk to the cafe with kids in tow, who both decide to stop often in the middle of the street and in front of moving cars, to find the cafe is NOW CLOSED.

In the space of time it took me to walk there.

Now I feel like a trio of my nemesises have cast a shit loop spell on me, so I’m reliving the same bad luck again and again and again.

 

And so we forgo the hot chocolate (the kids did not forgo quietly), and drive to the library.

And guess what?? No, guess! Come on, just guess!

 

Uh-huh. IT’S CLOSED! AT NOON ON A WEDNESDAY!

 

That’s fine. Again, I stop my rock, quickly sliding downhill, and with all my might, start rolling it up the mountain, and cross the street to Coastal Sage, a store that promises Fun! For Kids!

This could work. Maybe, just maybe, noon signals the end of my astrological confluence of crap or the shit loop spell, and I’ll be popped out of hell into a perfectly lovely beach merchandise shop.

 

But, it’s not to be, not to be.

Because, it too, like everything else this day, is closed.

 

Have I mentioned it’s a Wednesday? At noon? Seems retailers in my area need some sales instruction. And because I’m not vindictive, here’s lesson #1: BE OPEN.

 

I really and truly cannot stand my life right now, so just before I crumple into a ball at my daughter’s feet and beseech them to “just go on without me,” I see a doughnut shop and there, in the window? A picture of hot chocolate. And a banana split. And a gallon of ice cream.

How serendipitous.

All my favorite things in ONE STORE!

 

Ah, I got you, right? You thought it’d be closed?

Oh you pessimistic naysaying people. It’s not closed.

No, no, no, It’s just that they only take cash.

And it’s just that I never have cash.

But I actually DID have cash the night before, but I gave it to some anti-global warming petitioner people who’d knocked on my door twice already and I was on a conference call, so I just ran downstairs and threw them every last dollar in my purse so they’d go away and fix the world already.

 

So, no dollars, no doughnuts.

No hot chocolate.

No ice cream.

No nothing.

 

Universe? KISS MY GRITS.

 

Oh OK, not EVERYTHING blows.

PROMPTuesday was pretty cool.