This day had officially punched every hole in her crazy ticket.

Kimberly Kincaid

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Oh, Monday. 

Let's start with a kid who wouldn't budge from bed. Until 15 minutes prior to departure. We totally would have missed our flight had that been the case. The roads were icy, but, well, so much for a head start. As we made our way through our morning commute, my wipers began icing up. Big old chunks of frost and, let's be honest, what's more annoying than wipers that don't live up to their name and should therefore be called smearers.

I decided to reach my hand out the window and do the quick grab-and-snap of the wiper to release said ice. I'm handy like that. Well, hand reached, wiper swung, contact was made and wiper snapped off and flew  down the road behind us. Well, shoot. Kiddo asked if he could retell the story to his classmates "because it was just too good not to share."

After dropping Jared off, I bought new wipers. I turned down the nice gentleman's offer to install them for me. Then I went back in and got the guy to do it. (Who was I kidding?) Apparently it was just a broken off piece of the last wiper standing between me and the sort of independence that comes with do-it-yourself car maintenance. Oh, well. 

CrossFit happened. Coffee shop breakfast and study session happened. I put a lot of quarters in my meter... I was in it for the long haul. Only, the jeans I threw in my gym bag were a skosh snug thanks to takeout General Tao's chicken for dinner last night. For the most part I blame the General, and the Colonel, for the overall tightness of my pants. Well, all I could think about was those pants digging into mah belleh. Then, in a stroke of genius, I remembered the pair of yoga pants tucked away in the backup gym bag I keep in my trunk. At that point I didn't even care if I wound up looking homeless. 

I went out back to my car and started digging for freedom pants. I found them, but not before all the ice and snow on the back of my car slid into the trunk, filling my purse. 

I got in the backseat and began undressing. Halfway through the process I apparently sat on the panic button on my key fob and set off the alarm. A lovely passerby whipped around in time to see me in my underwear, pants half up (or down, depending on your perspective). 

And that, my friends, is a day in the life of yours truly. 

(And hopefully the end of the story.)