no need to look at any bathing beauty doll
Yesterday was so horrid that I knew I had to sleep on it before I committed the day to anecdote. It started innocuously enough: Blake slept in, I made pancakes, we were all late for church. When we got home, the trouble started. The Boy & I started to argue; it got personal, I got upset, and I decided to take Blake to Centre Island without him. The argument started with the right way to get downtown on Labour Day weekend, so I suddenly had the freedom to pick my route. I parked the car at the westernmost station and got on the train with Blake. The arguments had made us late, so I was counting on meeting all my connections in good time and making the most of our day. Plus, I had raw chicken in my backpack and a sweaty boy to safeguard – I wanted off the trains ASAP.
We got to Ossington. Announcement: personal injury on track (read: suicide). Everybody off the train and onto the shuttles. Me and everyone else went to the street level and waited for the bus. After 20 minutes, we all figured out that we were in the wrong place. Two more busses and an hour came and went before we could cram ourselves onto the bus. By the time we got to Spadina, it was almost 4.
What would you do?
I decided to cut my losses, take out some money, and get a cab back to a station just after the outage. Blake wanted to know when we would be going to Centre Island. I sat down on the curb with my load of spoiling meat and cried.
We ate watermelon in the back of the cab, blissed out for the first time in that awful afternoon. We got back on the subway and rode a scant six stops before – surprise! – another personal injury at track level forced us off the trains and waiting for the bus. 45 minutes later, Blake and I were on our way to my car.
When we got back to the Purple Lassitude, I did the only sensible thing: stopped at Apache Burger for an injection of lipids. Blake and I shared a cheeseburger, french fries and chocolate milkshake. This was probably the only thing that allowed me the mental energy to drive home and face telling the Boy that some days? Taking the subway isn't the better way.
Spent today on the beach. Nothing to be said about it, as nothing in particular happened. That's why I like the beach. Well, that and the sand in my underwear.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*