Recommended wine for today’s entry: Kendall Jackson 2005 Taylor Peak Merlot. Kendall Jackson’s wines are always reliable, and this merlot is the number two choice on a really good wine Web site: http://www.kenswineguide.com/wine.php?category=19. Check it out!
Today was weird from the get-go.
First, we were awakened at 6:10 by one of the smoke detectors, the one we didn’t disable yesterday, feebly beeping at the perfect interval to induce insanity.
Sleep. Beep. Roll over. Sleep. Beep. Roll over. Sleep. Beep. Roll over and give hubbie the bitchy grunt that means,“Get your butt out of the bed and either put out the fire or dismantle the alarm.”
He did as instructed and returned to bed at about 6:20.
But now I was half awake and I deduced that we had a carbon monoxide leak and I had a headache that was, in all likelihood, going to be fatal. So I went back to sleep.
Until 6:30. When the power in our stupid house went out. AGAIN. When I wrote recently that our power is always out, I was NOT exaggerating. I did get up this time and got a lantern for my daughter who was shrieking about having half her hair straight and half curly. She was right. She looked hideous.
Anyway, I went back to sleep for a couple more minutes.
Finally I gave up and got out of bed to continue helping my family with this crisis. To contribute, I drove my daughter up to the convenience store so she could go in and get me coffee. But I let her use the electrical outlet in my car to finish her hair on the way.
Fortunately, the power came back on at about 8:15. For once we didn’t have to throw away all the food in the fridge. Well, it actually wouldn’t have mattered. There’s not much in there because I’m tired of the grocery.
Because of my poor night’s sleep, I’ve been just a little discombobulated all day. But I promised myself I would get to the bottom of this carbon monoxide scare. I found a user’s manual for the alarms and deduced that they were beeping to tell us that they had rolled over and died. I had a mission to accomplish: New detectors.
So I backed my SUV out of the garage and spent about 2 minutes pressing the garage door opener, waiting for the door – the one that my husband had disconnected due to the power outage – to shut.
Aha! Then I hustled on the narrow country road through the hollow (yes, I really have to go through a hollow to get to civilization) and was at a home improvement store by noon. Even sleepy, I was more productive than usual.
Rapidly and with purpose, I strode to the center of the HUGE store. I’m not sure why. I must have had a blank look on my face, because two very nice young men offered to help.
“You sure can,” I said, noticing that one of them was pretty attractive and he seemed very interested in helping me today. Ha, the sleepy old lady still has it. I leaned against the end-aisle display, exhausted from hiking half of the enormous store. “Can you folks help me find smoke detectors?”
The man gave a weird smile and, I hate to say it, seemed to look at my hand to see if I had a wedding ring. Well, that’s how it seemed, but now know he was showing me my hand. Which was perched on one of the 200 smoke detectors on the end-aisle display.
“Huh,” I said, too embarrassed and frazzled to come up with a witticism. “There they are. Isn’t that weird? In a what …” (I scanned the store) … 60-aisle store, here they are. Right here. Huh.”
He started asking questions about what features I needed, preparing to give me a smoke-detector spiel, but I wasn’t in the mood, so I emphatically and convincingly told him that I knew EXACTLY what I needed, because I wanted to use the same mounting hardware that was already on the ceiling. I grabbed two detectors and spun to leave – ever the picture of a NOT SPACEY, NOT DUMB, NOT OLD AND SENILE blonde.
As I walked away, he said, “Have a nice day,” and I responded, perfectly senselessly, “Thanks, I did do that.” I DID DO THAT? What? I decided not to go back to that store for awhile.
Outside the door, a man who was probably an attractive surfer dude about 45 years ago, but who today was an overweight, wrinkly man with a ponytail and a hot dog stand at a home-improvement store, gave me a lewd look and offered me a wiener. (OK, he called it a hot dog, but he sounds like more of a pervert the other way and I was in a bad mood.) I threw him my haughtiest look, then tripped over a tiny little crack in the asphalt and lunged forward violently.
I got home, prepared to install my replacement detectors, realized they were the freaking wrong ones, cussed my foggy brain, put everything back in the bag for the return/exchange process, took my foggy brain back to my 2,000-pound SUV, and stormed down the driveway. (I know, mom, a car is a weapon.)
Suddenly I stopped and backed up the driveway.
Then I went inside and got the bag with the items for return/exchange, got back in the car, spent two more minutes wondering why the garage door wouldn’t close, realized it, flew through the hollow, returned the wrong ones and found the right detectors. While I was perusing the end-aisle display for the second time in 90 minutes, no fewer than six home-improvement store workers came by with smug looks on their faces to see if I needed help.
Yeah, buddy, I need help. But unless you have a cot and a bedtime story for me, I don’t need help from you.
And you, washed up surfer dude, I don’t need you either.