I won’t like this Poop either
My mother hates to cook. She hates it so much that we have been ordering home-made food from this restaurant for the past two years now. It’s fairly good and not very expensive. Plus, she doesn’t want to tug at each and every hair of her head ever so often from being stressed out. Everybody wins.
Since it’s been raining on and off for the past month, which is absolutely unusual for a place like Fortaleza, the delivery guy likes to play a game which he likes to call “Will I Show Up Today”, but also known as “Do You Want to Die a Slow and Painful Death” by my mother, and to which I refer as “Please Don’t Ruin My Day By Breaking All Mother-Hell Loose”. You don’t wanna see the Mother-Hell, trust me.
So, when he started this Game of Joy, we decided we would be off the delivery food until all the rain has ceased. Which means, I have to help out and Cook My Butt Off so we don’t get to experience Mother-Hell, level 9.
Today, when I woke up so crappy after being bugged with a stomachache all night long and tossing everything that littered my bed sideways to lie down, I went to the kitchen and made a very yummy spaghetti sauce. Except I hadn’t played with my dogs properly yet. Except they were dying to get into my room all night. Except I left the door to my room opened. And except that the junk I threw last night wasn’t so much as junk, but more like “the contents of my purse”.
So, the results of all those exceptions are that we’ll have a few surprise cheques for the next few days years because they ate all my receipts and I have no idea what was on them. I expect things to be, ahem, real BOUNCY from now on.