Monday, February 16, 2009

The Stupid Chronicles, Part Deaux

Yesterday we went to a birthday party. It was perfect and simple. My kids were in heaven, because couple a swings and some cupcakes is their idea of the perfect soiree:

I do have a fourth son, his name is Shep, but he did not sit still long enough to be recorded for perpetuity before my camera battery died.

The registration on my car expired recently and for some reason they did not mail me the form, so I had to go down to the courthouse and stand in line for 45 minutes to get the sticker. And then when I peeled off the expired one, it left a remnant, so I decided I would get some alcohol and clean it up nice before I stuck the new sticker on there. Because I can get OCD like that.

Unfortunately my inner OCD headbutted my inner Procrastinator and when that happens, Inner Procrastinator always wins. Hence the paper, with the sticker sticker attached, stayed in my car for several days.

Sunday when we drove to the clubhouse where the party was being held, I noticed that the sheet of paper was in the car - but the blue registration sticker was not attached to it!

I flipped out a little.
Cause flipping out a little is another one of my spiritual gifts.

It went a little something like this: "Where's the sticker? Where's the sticker! It was just here! I saw it yesterday! Kids? Did one of you peel off this sticker? Maggie? Well what happened to it? Someone must have STOLEN it! Ahhh! Did you lock the car at church this morning Walker? Are you sure? You're positive. I bet you didn't. You always forget to lock it. Now someone came in here while were at church and stole this sticker. Because it's $75, that's why! Oh, that makes me SO mad! Now I have to go stand in line at the dumb courthouse again, and shell out another $75...oh, that makes me SO mad! Are you sure you locked the car? I don't think you locked the car. Kids, did you peel off this sticker? Did you? AHHH! I can't believe someone STOLE it!!"

And on. And on. My tirade timed perfectly with the drive to the clubhouse, which fortunately for Walker was only about ten minutes.

When we arrived, I got out of the car, and as I did, something felt odd on the back of my jeans. It felt stiff...

and stuck.

I told y'all, I'm bringin' stupid BACK, baby.

(Only for you, invisibles, would I post a photo of my bottom for all the Internet to see.)


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