Feels like a Monday morning

Today when I walked to work, I saw a lady with a puppy. It was tumbling all around her legs, having a fight with the collar and making a big point out of not standing still by the crossway. As the green light turned on, and the lady indicated they had actually come here for crossing, it began to follow her in a most peculiar manner. As she was walking, it too was trying to walk. On its hind legs.
Lookit me! Lookit me! I am too a human being!

He was blending in. Nobody noticed.

Then I met a mother with a baby buggy. I’ve written about these mothers and their babies before (#808). I was just struck by the complete contrast between the puppy and the baby. The baby simply refused to recognize its origin, farting in its mother’s way, half-lying there with the baby fat all babyish, with a side glance of absolute self-conscious glee. It wasn’t trying to be human. It was trying to be Jabba the Hut. A small, repulsive blob of bloated fat with a maniacal grin.

He could have been the same age as the puppy, relatively speaking, but the puppy was at least trying to get along with the world. Allthough tumbling. It wasn’t sitting there with a side-ways glance of disgust, totally arrogant and full of itself, laughing at people frozen in carbonite.

That baby must have jinxed me!
First I spilled coffee on my white t-shirt, offended a co-worker and then I got some greasy, brown substance on my pants from this lamp I was carrying. Don’t axe me about the lamp. Anyway, I know a defeat when I see one. Walking around like I pee’d myself from not winning the wet t-shirt competition. This day can only get better.

Lady I work with stopped me in the hallway. Sigg3, you are pale! And warm! And you’re jokes aren’t funny! You gotta be ill! Go home and get rest! I was all like, ‘shesh, do you have to say all those exclamation marks?’ But I’m staying here till they’re gonna have to pry my cold, dead hands, from the keyboard.

’cause I kick ass.

One thought on “Feels like a Monday morning

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.