Have you ever tried getting dressed in a hurry? Have you noticed that the hurrier you are the longer it takes. I am aware that “hurrier” is made up. I take points for inventiveness and originality; if not for proper use of the English Language (what does E L James get?)
I’m having a pyjama day. I may potentially be cooking a baby* so I’m taking time to keep the lid on and simmer. That’s my excuse. The real reason, I share with you, my anonymous friends, is that I am too lazy to fight lazy, so I am letting him win.
I’m comfortably ensconced on my perfectly butt-cheek shaped couch, dithering about dishes and listless about laundry, messing about on the blogosphere whilst researching Google images for suitable blog post pictures. I’m surrounded by my laziness survival kit, which consists of laptop, phones (cell and landline), chocolate, chips, chocolate chip cookies, big giant bottle of Diet Coke and my Kindle. At this point, any move I make will cause a tsunami.
And the one thing I don’t have easy access to … my intercom. And just as I’ve arranged all my gear in an “easy access with no stretching required” order, my doorbell buzzes. My lazy-arsedness is only surpassed by my curiosity (little contradictions such as these are what make my life so special), so trying not to shift the tectonic plates of junk food, I get up, expecting to tell the intruder to my apathy that I’m way way way too busy to come to the door right now.
God has a great sense of humour … it’s my grocery delivery. Can’t ignore that one, but I’m wearing pyjamas and unless I want my neighbours to assume that delivery guy is future babydaddy*, I had better put some clothes on . And quick … it’s pissing down outside and my biscuits are getting soggy.
Clothes … clothes … where the fuck did I get undressed last night. Locate old shirt. It gets stuck over my head and when I finally emerge it’s back to front. If I don’t turn my back to the door I can get away with it. Right?? Skirt … skirt … any skirt will do. Try balancing on one leg to put on skirt whilst simultaneously running to the door and you have a guaranteed faceplant. Ouch! Can’t stop for sympathy.
I try to appear nonchalant and put together when I open the door, which is tough to do when you’ve got chilli chip dip breath and there’s one hand behind your back trying to keep your decency semi intact . Groceries unceremoniously dumped by my door … phew!! got away with that one and lean against door in relief. So why am I feeling suddenly cold in my derriere? Oh, someone, somewhere is having a great old time messing with my life today!! The bottom of my skirt is stuck in the waistband.
Did I just flash lazy-day granny knickers at hot delivery guy?? I didn’t have my back to him, did I? Did I??
Ah … I can’t be bothered caring … now where the hell are those soggy cookies?