My faith in the world has just been renewed.
It's been a pretty blech week. I've been oscillating between different mixes of anxious & guilty while at home and school and even church. (Graduation is next week, the anniversary of a massive clerical error that gave too many Bibles to too many kids who were too young to receive them. I've been radiating humiliation for a year.) The diet is in tatters, thanks to a storm of regularly-scheduled menstruation that kicked my crankiness to a supernova of irritation and threatened to embroil my immediate environs in a China Syndrome-type meltdown. Hit with the massive marking-of-essays, the punitive diet and the raging crimson tide, something had to give. And with the addition of treats to my intake, I've just managed not to kill everyone. (And plus? Poet is having another baby any day now. My "everyone is pregnant except me" paranoia is only fuelled by this latest development.)
Anyway, last week I bought a case of Steamwhistle, with the idea that a cold beer of an evening certainly wouldn't hurt my mood and just might help it. Today I put the last four bottles in the fridge (keeping the kitchenette light off of course, as Blake was in the next room "going to bed" (which currently means performing a variety show of recitations and song fragments in the dark)). I noticed something clinking against my belt. Taking it into the light, I discovered...
A bottle opener.
With the Steamwhistle logo. I was aghast, too delighted to squeee. I took it to the Boy. His jaw dropped, and he demanded a beer to celebrate this momentous acquisition. I have to tell you, my faith has been totally renewed by this moment. Of course, I probably just need to get out more.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*