I had high hopes for today being a super-productive day, on account of I scheduled a grooming appointment for Licorice this morning, which meant I had to be up and showered and dressed much earlier than usual.
I know the joke about freelancers working from home in their pajamas is tired and overdone, but if I don’t have somewhere to be, chances are excellent that I won’t shower until lunchtime. And even then, I’m likely to lose an hour or more to “I should totally go shower. But I’m hungry. Maybe I’ll just fix myself a salad and catch up on email while I eat. Okay, I’m done eating, but oh my gosh, I spent a lot longer on that than I should’ve. I should get some more work done before I shower.”
And this is how any day where I shower before lunch feels like a productive one.
So today, when I’m made breakfasts, packed lunches, showered, dressed, and had my coffee all by 7:30, I was feeling pretty snazzy. Which is never a good sign.
First, Monkey’s ride was late. Not terribly late, mind you, but when you live in a world where precision matters and anxiety abounds, late is never good. “Maybe Mario’s mom forgot to come get me,” he said, dancing around my office, peering out the door into the driveway. “Are you sure YOU weren’t supposed to drive today? What if you were? Have you called her yet? Would you like me to bring you your phone? Am I going to be late? What if they were in an accident? Do you even have enough gas to take me to school if you need to? Want to see how many times I can make my belly do this while we wait? I can whistle while I do it, too!” [Answer key: Yes. I wasn't. Nope. Not yet. I don't think so. They're fine. Yes. Please, God, no, and STOP THAT.]
Finally he was bundled off to school and I was free to take Licorice to the groomer’s.
As much as I love my pooch, I have a specific strategy when it comes to keeping her freshly-groomed, and it is this: Totally forget that she needs to be groomed until her face completely disappears, then make her an appointment. In other words, in much the same way that I may have 3″ or more of gray roots before it occurs to me to go get my hair fixed, I’m not one of those Snookums-gets-clipped-every-5-weeks kinds of people. Because I am 1) lazy and 2) cheap. Also, Licorice hates being groomed.
The groomer is a lovely woman, by the way. It’s not her. It’s Licorice. To be fair, Licorice also hates riding in the car (which she must do on the way to the groomer), being anywhere other than home (check), and me leaving her (three for three). Part of me feels like she might find these visits less stressful if we made them more often, but most of me thinks she’s just neurotic and I’d rather save my money and stress her out less often by continuing on our schedule of “oh it’s been a few months and I can’t find your eyes” groomings.
We arrived at our destination and I took Licorice over to a tree and encouraged her to pee, which she did. We went inside and she immediately began to cry. Which was pitiful. I felt incredibly sorry for her until she pooped right next to my foot.
I apologized profusely while someone swooped in with some paper towels and assured me that it was fine, it happens all the time, no worries! I finished getting Licorice checked in and looked down to see her pooping AGAIN on my OTHER side.
By this time, the woman who’d cleaned up the first time was missing, and the woman behind the counter seemed not quite so forgiving, so I whipped out a bag and cleaned up after my dog, all the while cracking jokes about how the GOOD NEWS is that she’s empty now! (Meanwhile, all I could think about was how she hadn’t yet done the whole nervous puke thing so really, I was lying.)
When it was time to lead her to the back, Licorice did the plant-her-feet-and-glare thing, and finally I just had to hand her over and leave, because it was too pitiful. I mean, I really don’t think they’re beating her with a stick or anything, I think she’s just spoiled rotten and neurotic. But I guess we’ll have to wait until she comes home later and yaks all over my office to be sure.
Anyway, once I left her, I came home and felt like MAN I HAVE THE WHOLE DAY TO WORK UNINTERRUPTED and immediately got to it. For about twenty minutes. Then I realized I was hungry, so I went and scrambled myself a couple of eggs. While moving the eggs from the pan to the plate, I dropped some on the floor. So—as one does—I made loud kissy-noises to summon my dog to come clean up my mess. Only, she didn’t come. So I called her by name. And waited some more. And then remember that I’d left her at the groomer.
I had to pick up my own mess. It was tragic.
I ate my eggs, I did some work, I called the orthodontist about a broken hook (“Braces: They take up your money AND your precious time!”), I set about sucking up to a few key people at the local university so as to procure a “qualified scientist mentor” for my kid for this year’s Science Fair (otherwise known as “making the biggest headache of the year someone else’s problem”), and I dusted my desk, because yesterday I cleaned it off but appear to have been blindfolded for the dusting that followed, because I seem to have missed most of it.
In other words, I’ve been so good that now all I want in the world is to go take a nap. And I probably would, if I wasn’t going to have to go pick up the dog and be on Barf Alert for the rest of the afternoon (or at least until I have to take Chickadee in for her emergency orthodontist appointment).