A Doozy of a Snoozy

“Miss?  Miss?  Do you want to go to work today?”

I opened my eyes, rubbed away the sleepys, and then it hit me.  Oh (enter expletive)!  I fell asleep in the back of a cab.

My cab fare was triple the usual cost.  I’m guessing he drove around like I was some wailing baby who was finally taking a nap.  It could have been one of those bad stories in a made-for-tv-movie.  You know the one…where the evil cab driver takes a dozing idiot for a wild ride around the city, steals all her money and throws her in the river.  I can see the headlines now.  GIRL FOUND SLEEPING ON SHORE BY FISH MARKET.  TWENTY TWO CENTS MISSING FROM HER HELLO KITTY CHANGE PURSE.

It isn’t like I haven’t had awkward moments before.  I’m quite the expert at handling them.  I gave him the ole thumbs up, got out of the cab, thanked him profusely, handed him all my cash, and waltzed into the small grocery store that I go to every day.

“Heddy, were you sleeping in the back of that cab?  Ha ha ha ha.”

It’s amazing when I tell the store owner that I want to use my debit card that he acts like he doesn’t understand any English.  However, on the days he wants to bust my chops, he seems quite fluent.    I snarled at him, threw three bags of gummy bears, two packs of pixie sticks and a Red Bull on the counter and said, “No.  Heddy has low blood sugar.”

I wish I could say I was sleeping in the back of a cab because I had a wild adventurous night, but sadly enough, I left work at 2:30 a.m. and had to return at 7:00 this morning.

I warned my co-workers that I wouldn’t be following the dress code today.  Nothing says professionalism like the stretchy pants, tank top, and wet jersey hair that I have wrapped up on the top of my head.  It is always days when I’m dressed like this that either Manfriend calls and asks me to join him for an important business function, a client wants to negotiate a contract in person, or I see a celebrity.

I think I just saw Snoop Doggy Dogg.

Last week I was on a much needed vacation, but after working the 38 hours in the past two days, the only thing remaining from that trip is the chipped hot pink polish that is still lingering on my nails.

Last week I was wondering how Manfriend could throw on a swimsuit, spray on some sunscreen, and be ready for the beach, all in the time that I was still standing in front of the mirror trying to get the left breast to look at perky as the right breast in my bikini.  In my post-29 years, I’m realizing that bikini has quite the task.  By the time I’d be finished getting on the swimsuit, putting on my face sunscreen, putting on my body sunscreen, powdering with some bronzer, positioning a flower in my hair, folding my two beach towels, organizing my smut novels and gossip magazines, color coordinating my flip flops, doing an inventory check of my beach bag, and readjusting my breasts, Manfriend would be curled up on the bed in a deep sleep.  Great.  More time to readjust.

I swear that is Snoop Doggy Dogg.

This week I’m wondering why we even take vacations if we return to work the following week only to run ourselves down.  But as in everything, I guess it is always about “give” and “take”.   Last week it was about taking vacation.  This week it is about giving every waking moment to work.

Manfriend just sent a text: “Ughhh.  Three days back and you’re already stressed.  Not good.  I’ll take care of you tonight.”

…and that I’ll take.

TAXI!

Love,

Heidi

xoxo