Sometimes You Step In Dog Poo

Some days are great. Yesterday was one of those. After a meaningful Easter sunrise service, a time of finger-food fellowship, then morning church, and a nice brunch, we spent most of the rest of the day just relaxing. A little work around the house, but not too much. The errant nap or two. It was Easter Sunday, after all, and we enjoyed every moment of it.

Some days you step in dog poo. Today is one of those. I don't mean that I literally stepped in dog poo, mind you – though I wouldn't be at all surprised if it happened, especially now that I've mentioned it. I use this extreme example to describe the kind of day where anything that could go wrong does.

The kind of day when you're finally leaving your house to get to work in time after countless days of being horribly late, and you get halfway down the road in front of your house, wondering what's that strange thumpa-thumpa-thumpa noise, and you get out of your car to see that, oh yeah, your tire's flat.

The kind of day where you go to the ABC Store to get more empty boxes for packing (and you're sure that someone you know is going to see you walking in or out of the store and get the wrong idea) and you come out balancing eight empty boxes far more gracefully than you would normally do, only to have the wind blow them out of your hands not once, not twice, not thrice, but four separate times – so much so that the ABC Store clerk has to come out and help you load the empty boxes into the van for you because you're so pathetic.

The kind of day when the van's gas light comes on just as you're arriving home, and your wife was planning to load the van with already-packed boxes to haul away to the storage unit once you're back at work, and you realize she's going to have to stop and get gas with a loaded-down van before she can even make it to the storage unit.

The kind of day when the donut tire which AAA has thankfully come and installed on your car starts going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa about a third of the way back to work, and you're certain it's gone flat, too, only to find that it looks perfectly fine once you arrive at work (having driven 25 miles per hour for nothing), and you realize you could have stopped and gotten a bite to eat after all, if you'd only known it wasn't flat.

The kind of day that, when you finally get back to work from lunch (almost twenty minutes late), you bump your elbow on the door frame outside your boss's boss's boss's office and spill half a can of Mountain Dew on the floor right outside his door.

This is that kind of day. I'm sure you've been there. It's not fun. In fact, it's horrible. Of course, it could be worse.

A log truck could have released its cargo through your windshield on your way to work, and you'd be not only deceased but decapitated, and your car would be totaled (not like you'd ever know).

A dirty bomb could have been dropped on your city, and you could be only hours away from dying a horrible, painful death at the hands of heartless terrorists.

Or you could finally get lunch after missing out on it earlier, only to find that a small mouse has died in your hamburger.

There's always something worse. But this is bad enough. I would like to respectfully ask for a rain check for the remainder of this day, and just sail on through to tomorrow. It's gotta be better than today – doesn't it?