Some days it's like this. Not sure why. Probably a combination of things. The temperature, the humidity, the level of pain I start out at, the amount of sleep I got, what I ate yesterday. Who knows?
Not me and that's for fuck's sure.
Why am I cursing so much today? I don't know. I had the loopiest dream I've probably ever had in my life last night and in it I sure was cursing. Men kept pissing me off and I screamed every obscenity in the world at them. It made me feel powerful.
By the way, my husband was not one of the men for which I am exceptionally grateful because the dream was already so crazy that I don't think I'll forget it if I live to a thousand.
Motherfuck of a dream.
So I stopped at the Post Office on my way home from my walk, as I always do. I had ordered a pair of overalls from EBay on Monday night and my box had a package slip in it which I had to present to the post mistress. There was a woman ahead of me, already being dealt with and I became one of those people. I was hot and stinking up the joint with my sweaty body and I just wanted to get my damn overalls and get home but the business this woman was attending to took forever. She was "returning to sender" and somehow, there were about fifteen forms to be filled out and then the post mistress had to put all the correct labels in the correct places on the package and then payment had to be made and I thought I was going to scream.
I didn't, but I probably sighed heavily more than once.
Got home, opened the package and I'd ordered a size Medium and by god, they must have been talking about a SNAKE size Medium or maybe they're a girl's size Medium but there ain't no way those overalls are going to fit my body.
At least I didn't pay much for the damn things.
Okay. I just tried them on. They are quite comfy if I don't button the top side buttons. I could start a fashion trend in Asheville, perhaps. Old Navy fucking overalls with the top side buttons undone. Maybe I'll just wear 'em with a thong and a lacy red bra. That's a good look for a sixty-year old granny, right? Anyone looks at me funny and I'll just say, "What the fuck you looking at, Motherfucker?" Maybe I'll get my head shaved while I'm at it. Maybe I'll get some tattoos. On my shaved head.
Maybe I'll get a tattoo of Keith Richards on one bicep and the Virgin of Guadalupe on the other.
Whoa! Check that shit out!
That might just change my motherfucking image. You think?
All right. I better pop some Ibuprofen and get to the store because my grandsons are spending the night and I have to pick up some chicken nuggets and tater tots. And bacon because they might want pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Because I'm a grandmother! And grandmothers do shit like that.
You got a motherfucking problem with that?
P.S. I do not curse around my grandsons. I swear. No, wait, I don't swear, I mean, I don't curse or swear or use profanity in their presence. Because I am a goddam southern lady of a grandmother. Of course.