Is there any crabbiness like the crabby that knows it has no right to be and is therefore compounded by a deep sense of guilt? At some point today I became Crabby Ungrateful McDourface, and it was entirely unwarranted. Thus making me more crabby.
I should not be crabby. Today brought many good things. I found out early in the day that Shaun would not be losing his job in the first round of lay-offs. This is no guarantee of job security, but we are going to go ahead and assemble our new Ikea bookcases anyhow.
Of much less importance but also good is that we watched the movie Stranger Than Fiction last night, and not only was it very enjoyable, but its lead actress was sporting the very hairstyle that I envisioned getting the last time I had a haircut. On my next visit to the salon I will be armed with still photos from the movie.
Really, how did I live without the Internet? One more good thing about today was that I sought and found recipes for Reibekuchen (Cologne-style potato pancakes), a guilty pleasure that de-throned funnel cake as my all-time favorite street/fair/festival food when I discovered it at an Advent festival in Germany.
Despite these good things, I was in a funk that could not be dispelled. A mature person would pray. At least take a few deep breaths. Under the diabolical influence of Reibekuchen recipes, I concluded that only a deep-fried dinner would make me feel better.
You can all guess how this went. Of course the fish and chips were a huge disappointment, providing neither culinary nor spiritual solace. After dinner it was off to Fred Meyer, where I was planning to buy some bar stools we had put off purchasing until we knew if Shaun would be keeping his job (for the time being) or not.
Of course there was no sign of the bar stools I had called about and put on 24-hour hold earlier today. I could write a whole post about the quest for these stools and the phone calls to the four area Fred Meyer locations and the utter cluelessness of the well-meaning Fred Meyer employees. But my energy has flagged, and rehashing it all will only exacerbate my crabbiness.
So, no bar stools. I figured I'd see if I could find some shorts. I headed for a longish denim pair only to discover to my horror that they had an ELASTIC WAIST in the back. Now, I'm a mom. Somewhat frumpy. I even got locked out of my dressing room tonight while trying on a pair of pin-striped Dockers walking shorts, which was traumatic enough. But being drawn to the elastic-waist shorts really unnerved me. As I retreated I caught a glimpse of the tapered-leg mom jeans and shuddered. Perhaps it's just a matter of time before I start inadvertently reaching for those.
I already knew it, and tonight reinforced it: I can't eat or buy my way to happiness. But a Nanaimo Bar from the Fred Meyer bakery counter has managed to perk me up a bit. It's not often that 79 cents can buy one two days' worth of calories and a bucketful of childhood memories. As I inefficiently multi-task, enjoying my Nanaimo bar, writing this blog entry, and watching Stage 2 of the Tour de France, the clutch of crabbiness on my chest has relaxed just a bit. Now if I could only get my brow to un-furrow.