I was gonna take a day off. But after what I read earlier, I feel compelled to say SOMETHING.

Cuz this blog is all about keepin’ it real, y’all.

Some comments from yesterday’s post made me wonder if anyone thought I was some sort of Superwoman for what I had listed on my schedule.

Nothing could be further from the truth. And I mean NOTHING.

I could tell you I used to date Robert Downey Jr, and that would be closer to the truth than me being Superwoman. (Oh, if only it was a lot closer to the truth….)

Ahem. Sorry. Iron Man fantasy. I’m back.

Oh! But Charlie, I totally love you. I’d choose you over RDJ any day. But ya gotta admit, you thought Iron Man was cool too. If you had that suit I’d be all over you too. Mmmmmm….

What was I saying?

Yeah. Not Superwoman. You gotta understand some things about me:

FIRST: Just because something is on my list doesn’t mean it gets done. It’s just On the List. And that makes me feel better. Charlie can tell you how many things have been on my list for months, just transferred over and over to a new calendar page. And I’m not even talking about the stuff that falls OFF the list. That’s what we call it: “fell off the list.”

Because I’m also all about taking personal responsibility.

The stuff that fell off the list usually ends up in a pile on my desk until the biannual cleanup, when it’s woefully out of date. Then I get to throw most of it away! Wheee!

Speaking of my desk, the piles are like strata. You know, like in an archaeological dig? When I have to find something, I start working from the top down. You need me to find something from June? Near the bottom cuz I last sorted it in May. August? That’s tougher since it’s in the middle. Was it pre- or post- first day of school? Nevermind. Let’s just call the school and ask them to give us a new copy.

My schedule itself is incredibly disorganized. Need to go to Home Depot? Okay, I’ll make a list.

Then I’ll lose it.

Then I’ll find myself there one day and try to remember what was on the list. And I’ll get maybe six out of the ten things. Then I’ll get home thinking I got them all until Charlie asks about the four things I forgot.

And by now I’ve forgotten they were ever ON the list so I act like it’s a new request and I put them on a new list. And so on and so on…

I like to delegate. Only Charlie calls it “dumping.” Whatever. Yesterday I got him to a) Go to Starbucks and buy coffee, and b) Go to Publix in the afternoon and get his own dang meat for dinner.

I actually take Charlie’s cooking so much for granted that I just wrote letter b) above.

.

But The Number One Reason I’m not Superwoman?

Girl would not do what I managed to do yesterday at Starbucks.

(Yes, I did get Charlie to pick up ground coffee. But you didn’t think I was gonna miss out on my frappuccino, did you?)

I made a quick stop right after my lunch date, since I was hurrying home to try to have at least 30 minutes to work before getting kids at the bus stop.

At 1:30 there was no line and hardly anybody in the store. So they whipped up my java chippy deliciousness and handed it over. And I started powerwalking toward the door. The guy going out ahead of me was holding it open, so I picked up the pace.

(Do you do this too? Hurry to “help” someone help you, because you don’t want to be too much trouble?)

Besides walking fast, I was also trying to rip open my straw, hold my purse in my hands, juggle my phone, AND get out my keys. Something had to give. And something did: My beloved frappuccino.

Remember how I said the store was almost empty? Almost is the key word. Right by the door, two businessmen were having coffee and shooting the breeze. And I was right behind one of them when the frapp dove out of my hand. In slow motion (why do disasters alway happen in slo mo?)

I watched the cup slip, fall, and start to rotate. By the time it hit the floor, it was totally horizontal. With the lid side toward the businessmen.

I know I did not mention that the guy closest to me had his sportscoat hanging on the back of his chair. Oh yes he did. Thick chocolate chip mocha liquid (WITH whip, thank you) flew everywhere. Mostly it was confined to one area, though: the wall by the door, the floor, and this guy’s coat.

He was gracious, but I still felt terrible. It didn’t make me feel any better when the baristas calmly led me by the elbow to another table saying, “You sit right here. We’ll take care of it.”

As I watched them and Sportcoat Guy wiping chocolate off of his tweed jacket, I tried hard not to cry.

(The only thing that kept me together was imagining blogging about it. Y’all are good for my emotional well-being.)

His friend found it kinda funny — probably since he and all his clothes were dry. So I’m sure he was trying to make me and his friend laugh when he said,

“Dude, you’re lucky you hung your jacket on the back of your chair. Otherwise, you’d be SOAKED.”

About this time a barista brought me a fresh frappuccino on the house.

<Sob>

So I did what any Superwoman would do: I slunk out as quickly as I could and got in my car and cried.

.

Yes, I know I’m a role model for women everywhere.