I've had something too much on my mind as of late. More and more often it creeps up and startles me like a swift kick in the pants. But usually it lingers vaguely in the back of my brain like a nagging toothache.
It's my vacuum bag.
My vacuum bag is full to overflowing and needs to be replaced.
Every time I make a TO DO list I write BUY NEW VACUUM BAGS! But I never actually buy them, I just think about buying them.
I started putting post-it notes all over my house--on my fridge, my bathroom mirror, under the kitchen sink, inside the rice cooker.
BUY NEW VACUUM BAGS!
I even cut out early from a girl day with Martha and Swirl so I could buy new vacuum bags. But did I buy them? Nope. I couldn't even remember what brand of vacuum I own so I went to Abargios to listen to George Michael and drink Mountain Dew instead.
But I really needed new vacuum bags because my mom is coming on Monday!
Did you hear me, peeps? I said my mom is coming on Monday!
So a few days ago I got on-line and shopped until I dropped, but do you know how much it costs to ship Y shaped Hoover vacuum bags to the middle of the pacific ocean?
No thank you, I will just keep sweeping my floors!
My mom offered to help. "I can run down to the Hoover store and bring you some vacuum bags when I come," she said. "I've been trying to think of something to get for your birthday anyway."
It was tempting because I've been wanting vacuum bags for my birthday, but I finally finally finally found some in the very first place I looked.
Hallelujah for Sears!
When I got home I opened the cupboard above the dryer where I keep my vacuum bags and time slowed way down. I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I blinked again. I closed the cupboard door and opened it again. Closed. Opened.
I laughed. I cried. I almost died.
Stacked neatly right where the vacuum bags are supposed to be was a pile of . . . vacuum bags.
There's a moral here, peeps. There's a definite moral here: Don't waste time listening to George Michael and wishing for things you already have.
P.S. Remember last week's crock pot message from the universe? Well, I was hauling Martha's basketball snacks out of my van when my first counselor drove by and yelled, "Hey, I read your blog. I've got your crock pot!" Of course I stuck my leg out and tripped her van. (Was that spiteful?)
Sometimes my life is just like the movie Castaway.
P.S. My husband is back now, btw, and I have a raging headache.
It's not just because of the constant yakety yak yak in my ear every time I sit down to blog my brains out.
It's also because of all the presents he brought back from the Big Island for our 20th wedding anniversary--shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate. Jelly beans dipped in chocolate, a huge bag of chocolate covered macademia nuts, a huge bag of dirty laundry, more choc covered mac nuts, more strep throat, and a hotel and resorts shower cap that you can only get in Hawaii, Fiji and Tahiti.
Oh, and a pair of hungry eyes. (You'd think he'd never seen a 41 year old in a pair of flannel jammies before!)
Guess what I got him?
A visit from my mom. (Isn't the 2oth the MIL anniversary?) Do you think I should dip her in chocolate before I bring her home from the airport?