Not me

Remember when I was all “the little things are so important?”

Right.  Wasn’t that sweet?

Well, this week was different.  This week, there was a day when I swore that the next time a random charity called me, the person on the other end was going to get a (completely undeserved) crazy rant.

Something like:

“Oh, you’re having a truck come through my area?  Just like you did last week, when I told you I didn’t have anything yet?  Now, it’s true that I do have a giant pile of stuff in the basement that we need to get rid of, but it’s also true that I haven’t had any time to go through it, but I need to because some of it is probably stuff my nephew or my friends could use, and every time you call I feel guilty about not doing it yet, and now you are just rubbing salt in that wound, AND DO YOU WANT ME TO CRY RIGHT NOW?”


“Yes, I am eligible to give blood again.  But it always takes longer than you say, because I apparently have reptile blood that oozes rather than flows, and because I am always the last patient before the phlebotomist’s coffee break, and they just know that if they finish early, that witch of an RN is going to make them do inventory or something.  And that is just not going to work for me this week.”


“No, I will not be giving you any money, DNC.  To save us both time, please see this post.  Stop being so damn disappointing.”

In other words, even though I know I’ll regret it tomorrow, some days I would just really like to tell everybody to



About Grape

I've got the world's best kids and husband. Great house, steady job. I'm living the American dream. The trick is to appreciate it. I'm working on that part.
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One Response to Not me

  1. Pingback: Dear Papa Bear, | Fruit Salad

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