Bad Days

There are some days that just start off bad, and then there are the days that start off OK then turn on you like a rabid dog. I seem to be having a rabid dog day.

John had an appointment this morning, so he didn't go into work like usual. The plan was for me to get ready while he was at the doctor's, and then I would take him to work and finally get my driver's license renewed at the licensing center downtown. All I needed was to get the license itself with the picture. I already renewed online (yay, Internet!) and got my photo card in the mail last month. I was just waiting for my hair to cooperate enough that I wouldn't barf every time I opened my wallet for the next four years.

The hair turned out fine, and we were on our way to town. We got a parking spot with a meter, and I remembered to bring plenty of quarters with me. All looked well, until I saw my reflection in the glass of one of the buildings in PPG square. Seeing as PPG is Pittsburgh Plate Glass, they seem to think all of their buildings should be made completely of glass and started the ruination of my day. I saw myself, and all I could think was how horribly fat I looked. There is nothing like feeling fat ( I know I am fat, but feeling fat is different problem.) to sour a day. I tried not to think about it. I told myself I looked fine, and I didn't even check the mirror as I walked into the drivers licensing center.

On the walk over, John and I discussed lunch options, and he annoyed me even more with his goofy planning. He wanted to get right to work and be there for a little while rather than just getting lunch over with while he was already out. It made no sense to me and frustrated me to no end, but when John wants to do something, there is no convincing him otherwise. It's like trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar.

One might think that having a photo card and being able to go right to the front of the line of twenty or so people waiting to get a license would make me happy enough to overcome the piggy feeling. It helped. A little. But it wasn't enough to help me dredge up a real smile to save my life. I had the worst driver's license photo ever. Well, maybe not ever. I seem to remember a really bad one that would cause people to retract in horror something like ten years ago. I was thrilled to have a name change, requiring me to get a new license, which turned out to be one of my best driver's license photos ever. But today's photo was pretty damn bad, and I don't remember the past bad photo enough for it to qualify as worst ever, so I am calling this one worst ever. It's ugly.

I had the chance to have the photo retaken, thanks to digital technology, but I was already miserable and didn't figure I could have smiled nicely at that point if someone handed me a fistful of money. It seems I was predisposed to be in a rotten mood today. I accepted the ugly picture just to get out of there and get on with my day. I doomed myself to four years of one-inch square ugliness. Maybe I can lose my license.

Since John wanted to work for a while, I went to the bookstore, which was several blocks away. While we were walking, Booie started complaining about her feet hurting from her shoes, so we had to make a pitstop in the drugstore for bandages. We went on to the bookstore and got her feet taped up, and I found the books I wanted when my cell phone started ringing. I cursed myself for not turning the thing off or at least turning the ringer volume down and crabbily answered what I knew would be John's call. Sure enough, it was him, chastising me for taking so long. Between walking slowly so Booie's feet didn't hurt so much, the stop for bandages, and finding books, we took more than the hour we paid for the parking meter. I didn't have any quarters left anyway, so I told him to take the quarters he was supposed to get, renew the meter, and meet us at the pizza place.

We got there about the same time, and John had to make sure I knew the meter had run out of time. I didn't think it was that big a deal, but he kind of rolled his eyes, shook his head and gave me one of those disgusted, fatherly looks. I felt like I was twelve. I was irritated that he wouldn't even consider the whole reason I walked so damn far to the bookstore was upon his suggestion that we take more time, so he could work. How was I to know Booie would start getting blisters? How was I supposed to put the quarters he had into the meter anyway? What is so horrible about going a little over time on a parking meter? It's not like I was ticketed or do it all the time. I've never had a ticket in my life. I drive well. I don't speed through residential areas like he does. I had the slightest chance of getting a parking ticket, and he has to treat me like an irresponsible child.

Lunch sucked. The food was great, but I was angry, especially when he kept telling me to "just let it go." He's the one that pushed the issue until I got upset about it. He thought it important enough to make sure I knew how horribly wrong I was for not hauling ass back and forth to the bookstore, ignoring my child's pain, carrying her if I had to, so I could make it on time to keep that meter from expiring. I wished I would have just gotten the stupid, ugly license and went home. Good food was certainly not worth staying.

The drive home was a joyous occasion too with people blocking intersections, a broken down garbage trick, an asshole in a big Bronco, one of the millions of licensed grandpas in this county who made sure to drive ten miles per hour under the speed limit, and traffic out the wazoo.

I've had much worse days, that's for sure. It's just I'm still unhappy with that new driver's license smoldering in my purse, and I still want to punch John in the nose. I'm hoping an afternoon working on the vegetable garden and relaxing in the new pool will help relieve some of my irritation. I really fear the snowball rule of bad days though. Things can get worse, and they often do. Maybe this just isn't one of those days. I sure hope not.