Perspective - And Not in a Gay, Reflective Way

I'm beginning to rely on the Viking for perspective and frankly, I have life so easy....

Here's a comparison:
Example Number 1:
On Sunday morning, hours before I would normally have a temper tantrum because the dog has the nerve to want to go out before 10 am and she's whining and I want to be in my sleeping paradise, the Viking was slamming around in the dark in an angry rush to find and destroy the alarm clock. He had to leave at 5 am, deal with work, and god bless him, come back in the afternoon.
Would I have done any one of those items?
We all know the answer but I'll spell it out anyway: Hell to the no.
IF an alarm goes off at my house in the weekend, it goes off at 9:30, in order that I have plenty of time to get to Viva before $1.99 burritos go to their regular price of $2.50.
And that's a big IF because I've taken off a bunch of weight and I don't eat burritos as often as I'd like for you to think I do.
So really, having to get up before 10 am on a Saturday or Sunday used to be a burden. You know... I live alone, I have my own schedule, and I was responsible to one person and one person only. If I felt that 10 am was a little too early to be pushing myself out of bed, than I was fine with that.
Now, I really care for the Viking and ummmm.... watching him deal with his schedule makes me feel like I go through life being carried by loyal man-servants who answer my every beck and call and who make sure that my pretty pretty feet never touch the ground.

Never was this so clear as at 5:30 when I am clinging to the Viking, in his joking words, "Like a 5 year-old" and slurring things like, "Just tell the doctors you can't make it." "Can't you call someone and tell them you're busy?" I knew he had to go, I knew he was going, and I had zero control over bratting out.

Looking back, I think I am slightly jealous of the self-control that it must have taken to get in the car and drive away from me. Me, in a gigantic purple robe, hair everywhere, eye-makeup staining me all the way down to my chin, and Ode de Bar perfuming the morning air. Tearing away from THAT takes a real man.
But seriously? I am not going to feel right about complaining that it's only 10 am for a really long time. Especially if I went to bed at 11 the night before which, sadly, is often the case.

Example Number 2:
At about 11:30, I realized that there was some cheese in my suit pocket. This was bad.
I had a lunch meeting.
How the cheese got to my pocket and why it was still there at 11:30 in the morning will most likely be a mystery for the ages.
I do like cheese, so it's not surprising that I would have some at work but what is surprising, is the fact that at some point in the last couple of weeks, I must have been wearing this same suit jacket. I must have thought to myself, "I'd like some cheese right now." Right after I secured the cheese, I bet I went to the ladies room or took a phone call or got in on some heavy gossip in the Cubicle Castle.
I bet I forgot that I put some cheese in my pocket.
Now, I know I didn't wear this all week last week because it was too cold. The week before?
But I am willing to put out there that this cheese might have been in my jacket pocket for like, as many as three weeks.
No, I haven't smelled anything.
The SMELL was waiting for me to wear the jacket so that it could rise up and start punching me in the mouth, repeatedly. Simply giving off a noxious odor while the jacket was hanging in my closet would have been too honest for Chief Cheese of Stealthy Food County. Chiefy sat on things for awhile, waiting and watching and suppressing nervous giggles whenever he thought of my assured mortification.
And then he struck.
And yes, I view this as a personal attack from a food item. I realize that I should probably not have left the cheese in the pocket - I mean - hell. There's an argument for me not ever having put the cheese in the pocket in the first place.
I get that.
But why did the cheese wait and attack me when I am at my most vulnerable: On Monday morning while I am at work.
Why do I have to be the smelly girl every time?
So I'm having this saga of thug foods and right after I decided that cheese and I are no longer friends, right when I vowed to remove all evidence of our old affair from my home and, not coincidentally, my person, I found out that the Viking got hit by a car.
I have cheese in my pocket and he gets rear-ended on the way to work.
By a SEMI.

My fight with cheese is pale now and it's lying on the pavement, breathing noisily but everyone can see that it's just an act.
Get up Cheese Fight! Come on! Enough is enough. You're fine. Shake it off if you need to. Good girl. That's right, let's go. See? Nothing doing.
Now don't freak-out because you're about to feel like a great big useless tool but
Look across the street.
See you Viking?
He got in a car wreck with a Semi-Truck today.
Perspective, honey.
It'll change your life.

And all of this is true, so make sure you ask me about the Viking’s actual condition… he’s obviously not, you know…. a head-injury.
Oh, sidenote: Wouldn’t that be tragic? DJ-AZ-Is chills the hell out and Sarah meets this dude and then Monday morning he gets in his yuppy-mobile and gets smashed to bits on the freeway; only not to bits. Physically, he’s f-i-n-e, fine.
Nobody suspects a thing.
But that accident was pretty bad. He can’t be….
And the Lifetime promos with the scarey sweet menace music hint that he’s anything but fine. The accident caused his brain to get swished around and he is turned from the perfect boyfriend to a pathological killer with a thing for girls who hide savory food items in their work clothes.

I hope I see you later.

arizonasarah at 1:46 p.m.

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