It's Just One of Those Weeks

After my near death experience first period in two years fiasco, I should have known that at least two more tragedies would occur. It always comes in threes, right?

This morning, I was trying to get Jeffrey and Mads ready to go for a lunch date with my parents. There were fifty thousand things going on, breakfast for Mads, Jeffrey's coffee, and I only had eyeliner on one eye. We were running late. The shirt that I really wanted to wear was looking a little wrinkly, so I figured I would throw it in the dryer to "fluff" it a little. I was only semi-aware that the cat had been following me around all morning, probably wanting food or some other necessity to life that I just didn't have time to deal with. I threw my shirt in the dryer and turned it on.

I checked Wic's food bowl, it looked as it usually does, half full with random pieces all over the floor. Stupid cat. I finished my other eye, chased Mads all over the apartment trying to put a shirt on her, drank some coffee. I was sitting on the living room floor sharing a piece of toast with Babe, when I hear this THUMP-THUMP......THUMP-THUMP......THUMP-THUMP. It sounded like my dryer. My first thought was, damn I'm pissed now, stupid stupid dryer, everything is always broken, vacuum, dryer, effin' washing machine, dammit, dammit all. My shirt! I really want to wear that shirt! Dammit.

I told Jeffrey to go scope out the situation while I hunted down an iron.

My shirt wasn't the only thing in the Maytag. Wic-Bag was in the dryer, and had been for at least five whole minutes. Spinning. Thumping. I dried the cat.

Wicca was OK, warm and fluffy, a little disoriented, but OK. My shirt was covered in cat hair.

Two down, one more to go.