This week I "lunched". Seriously, all I did all week long is meet up with old friends for lunch at various restaurants around the city. I lunched at Med Grill on Monday with Tina and was shocked when the bill for my lunch alone (with tip) came to $24!!!!! And I'd already booked lunch dates for Wednesday and Friday that I guess I could have gotten out but I just didn't want to. I was much more frugal at these lunches which combined still came to less money than my lunch on Monday, and tasted just as good...
I also had a lunch date on Thursday which I did cancel because I woke up that morning feeling extremely grumpy and tired with a sore throat and a bit of a headache. I phoned up my friend who I knew would understand (which she did) hoping to reschedule some time with her next week. After I hung up the phone I opened the fridge to make myself some breakfast (cold cereal and milk sounded just fine and I was feeling lazy) but when I went to pull the milk out it was EMPTY.
The trouble with having pre-adolescent boys in the house is that not only do we go through litres of milk each week but they consistently forget to acknowledge that they have taken the last of it. I often find our milk jug empty in the fridge, which I think they secretly put back empty on purpose because it is so much easier than throwing the bag away which might lead them to realize that the garbage also needs to be taken out, which means voluntary chores, which means ick and avoid-at-all-costs in the eyes of any sane adolescent.
Though I was tired and grumpy I felt like I wasn't going to let the small matter of milk get me down. After all I had the whole day ahead of me and could easily jump in the truck, drive to the store for milk, and while I was at it stop at my favourite coffee bistro for a steaming hot decaf. I even brought my book along just incase I decided to sit on a sunny bench with my coffee and read. Aaaah, what luxury to be unemployed and waiting for baby. I was therefore feeling extremely patient and relaxed when I tried to start the truck.
The key word here is tried because IT DIDN'T START! Of course I panicked. I imagined a $1000 transmission bill or something equally scary. I tried to call James to my rescue but he wasn't at his desk. I reminded myself not to panic and how much easier it would be not to panic if I atleast had a coffee and milk for my cereal. I gave the matter some thought. I tried to phone James 4 more times in a five minute period and then decided to walk to the store. Walking to the store was not bad. I felt slightly invigorated, my sinuses started to clear up, my legs felt strong and I was getting exercise. All good things. By the time I was walking home from the store I felt none of these things. My pelvis was aching terribly. My arms were drooping from the weight of the milk that I kept shifting from arm to arm. My coffee was lukewarm and relatively weak. I was back to being miserable. When I felt like I had reached the end of what I could take, I looked up and saw James driving towards me. It had been nearly two hours since I left the house and by this point I was only five minutes from home but I could not have been happier to see him. In fact, if it did not hurt to jump I would have jumped for joy. He had heard my messages and come home on his lunch break to discover that the battery had died, and not because I had done something stupid like leave the lights on (which is not unheard of) but simply because it was old. James was able to borrow a battery charger from a neighbour. The next day, feeling like a very responsible and take charge kind of person, I went to Canadian Tire to purchase a battery. I walked up to the service desk and asked for a battery for my 1990 Ford Explorer. I felt some of my self-assuredness fade away when the service clerk gave me a quizzical frown and said that there was no such thing!
(oops... how am I supposed to know what I drive? And my last car really was a 1990!!)
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