I was walking through the hall, holding a mug of coffee, when it happened. I paused to tap on the closed bathroom door, to make sure my oldest, Type A, was going to the bathroom, and not giving herself premature hemorrhoids by sitting on the toilet for 45 minutes with the ipad. All of a sudden, it’s like my hand forgot it was holding a mug of coffee, and it just…. let go. The mug fell to the carpet and hit, bottom first, causing the hot coffee inside to forcefully eject from the mug like demon vomit from Linda Blair’s unholy mouth. I only had time to gasp in horror as the coffee shot out, splattering the walls and covering me head to toe. I stood there, frozen, as coffee dripped from my hair Carrie-style (pig’s blood for a pig),
and ran down the walls in little brown rivulets. And my God! Was that coffee on the ceiling???? ON THE CEILING????? I managed to choke out a horrified “Oh my GOD” before the kids came running. When they saw the mess, they too, froze. Probably in fear. “Can you guys PLEASE get me some TOWELS?” I asked through clenched teeth, not even knowing where or how to begin cleaning up this mess. It was the blue slushy all over again. The kids ran around like the 3 stooges, running into each other in their eagerness to ward off what was sure to be a Mount Vesuvius-style blow-up from yours truly.
One ran and brought back a bunch of rags. The other two brought paper towels, and mercifully, some cleaning spray. They then quietly went into their separate rooms and shut the doors. An unearthly silence fell over the whole house, and if I HAD been Carrie (of Stephen King fame), you can BET I would be using mind bullets to vent my anger. I looked down, and there, in a puddle of coffee that was slowly being absorbed by the beige carpet, was my mug. Upside down. I can only assume it hit the floor, bounced, flipped over, and landed on the rim. Stupid fucking mug. I hate you. So. First things first. I wiped my face and blotted my hair (it was in my HAIR!!!). I felt sticky and nasty but before I could clean myself up, I had to take care of the carpet. And the walls. And the ceiling. So I mop up the mess on the floor as best as I can, then attack the walls with cleaning spray and paper towels. Once that was done, I headed downstairs to get the carpet cleaner. That’s when I notice the coffee dripping down the banister. THE BANISTER?? OH COME ON!!! THAT’S LIKE 10 FEET AWAY FROM GROUND ZERO!!! HOW CAN COFFEE POSSIBLY FLY THAT FAR???? So I get the carpet cleaner and lug it upstairs, and I get to work. Soon, the upstairs smells like wet carpet and cold, dirty vanilla Via, and it is making me vaguely nauseous. And no matter how much I go over the area, there is still a vague brown stain on the carpet. One I cannot blame on the kids OR the dog. I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to having an ugly brown stain on the carpet. I finally get to shower, and realize that I was wearing my last clean pair of non-holey jeans when the “incident” occurred. Damn it. I’m afraid to even ASK if this day could get any worse, because we all know it can.
And that, my friends, is why you can never trust Tuesday. -K