The phone rang at 8AM on a Saturday. This is a bad sign, no one would call me at 8AM on a Saturday unless they believe I need to buy something from them or they have BAD NEWS. It was BAD NEWS. My toe and finger lady cancelled my pedicure. She cut her cornea. WTF. Do I try to do my own toes-try to live two more weeks with these toes-what if I have to find a new toe lady-I just bought new pedi socks last month, I can't waste them by doing my own toes-besides I can't see that well and I am used to perfect polish. Damn. There are days my toes are my only moment of happiness. Everyone wants something from me. Grrdog wants to pee/poop/get a cookie/and most importantly grr at me. Big Daddy expects me to listen to his babble. My boss wants me to talk to him. The Worm, Gregory, wants me to let him lecture me on how smart he is. DAMN. This is a serious dilemma. What if she is permanently out of the toe business? Damn.
Now what do I do, learn to use my new Blackberry so I don't look a fool at work or make the TOE decision? This is just too much for a Saturday morning. Okay, now I feel better, Obama also has to learn how to use a new phone. I won't be the only one fumblin and stumblin in front of the customer. Wonder if he gets his toes done? I saw a picture of him in sandals and you know sandals on a man can be sketchy. Bad cuticles and ragged nails and rough patches and hairy, hairy, toes.
I have made an executive decision. The toes win.