Wednesday, March 26, 2008

What's the French Word for Tired as Hell?

This weekend in Seattle I was amazed at my niece's ability to fall sound asleep at any given moment. After a particularly busy Saturday, she passed out in the car and slept through being picked up, walked to a restaurant, being seated by the hostess and placing our order. She did however, wake up promptly when the food arrived. She's my kind of girl.

I should have heeded my own warnings. Today I couldn't pull myself out of bed. I finally made it out of the house, dropped the mutt off at doggy daycare and finally got downtown a mere hour and a half later than I normally arrive. I had just about made it to the parking garage but not before almost taking out a bicycle cop. Um, can we say oopsie?

In my defense, he WAS on the wrong side of the road AND on the sidewalk and I didn't ACTUALLY hit him. But there was kind of a tense moment where I was hovered precariously between "you jack ass, why can't you follow the rules of the road like you're supposed to?" and "Oh, HI officer! How are you on this lovely day? We don't have to make a big deal about me almost hitting you, do we? Run along now!" He must have seen it on my face, because he started laughing and waved me through. I waved back and started moving into the garage, but in my exchange with the officer missed the group of SCHOOL CHILDREN moving in a herd down the sidewalk to my left. Luckily no one had decided to jog to school that day, for if they had I would now have a very cute hood ornament. Everyone was fine, except for me of course. I decided to calm my nerves by downing a double espresso.

By lunchtime I had become a whiny mess. When one of the squad asked if anyone was up for Mediterranean food, I almost pouted and stamped my foot when saying "I don't WANT Mediterranean food for lunch," secretly hoping they'd change their minds. They didn't. I ate at my desk. By late afternoon I was done. I spent an hour working on a company's financial statements for 2006. So what's the problem? No problem, until I realized I needed to analyze their financials for 2007.

I picked up the mutt at daycare and she looked just as worn out as I did. I managed to get her some dinner and was just about to get me some too, but when walking past my couch it started speaking to me.

"Hello darrrrrling," my couch purred. It often times becomes a frenchman whenever I'm exhausted. "You look sooo tired. Why do you not come sit down on me just for a little bit, baby?"

"No, I shouldn't." I responded, thinking of that pile of laundry that needed to be put away upstairs.

"Oh come, come now," my couch would not be deterred. "Just for one little moment, it has been sooooo long since we've had some time together."

"Well ... okaaaaay," I sat down not wanting to hurt my couch's feelings.

I slept through dinner, through the sun setting, through the American Idol kickoff and finally woke up--not when the waiter arrived, unfortunately--but when my dog was crossing her paws from having to pee so badly. It's during times like these that I wish I were three again--able to fall asleep in the car without causing anyone physical harm. When someone, other than me, had to look out for my best interests--feed me, clothe me and carry me off to bed when I couldn't walk myself. I may have to unwillingly be an adult, but luckily I'll always have my couch, Jacques.

Bonne Nuit Mes Amies,