Day in the Life

9:03 pm, January 30, 2016.  (So, yesterday night.)  I took the elevator down one flight of stairs and hobbled across the building to visit my friend Anna in her room for an evening of chick flick watching and homework doing.  (But, let's be honest, what did we actually do? Not much homework.)  You'd never guess, but Anna's big into Hallmark movies.  I mean, she's probably seen all of them.  She recognizes like every single actor - "I liked him better when his hair was longer and he was with that blonde girl" - and she's got the basic plot structure down to a science.  We watched a Hallmark movie.

She'd been marathoning, but by the time I got there it was "Dater's Handbook."  You know, the one where the girl has a bad dating history and is about to give up until two handsome men fall into her lap simultaneously and she has to choose just one (it's a hard life), but then a conflict happens and all seems lost until the dramatic resolution in the last ten seconds of the movie.  This one featured Cass, Robert, and George.  You guys, George was the worst and Robert had the cutest dog ever, but of course Cass chose George first before realizing how awful he was and meeting Robert at the lantern festival to say she was sorry.  I yell at the TV during chick flicks more than most probably all all guys yell at the TV watching football. 

The problem with me and Hallmark movies is that, sometimes, I have a hard time understanding that they are not reality.  I mean, I realize that it's probably unlikely that I'll be seated with a handsome stranger at a wedding and immediately hit it off, happen serendipitously upon him the next day while we're both out running (in our matching running outfits, with our very similar dogs who immediately become BFFs), that he'll find out my mom's favorite band and take both of us to see them in concert (complete with limousine service), and we'll finally realize how much we love each other right at the moment that the lanterns are released at the festival.  But it's possible. It definitely is.  Statistically speaking, it could happen to me any time.  So, last night, after being reminded by "Dater's Handbook" of the (albeit improbable) reality that is a good Hallmark ending, I told Anna that I was going to get up early to do my hair today.  I said something like "I might be meeting my future husband tomorrow, so I have to be ready."  And  you know what? I did.  I even washed my hair in the same morning, and I went to church where all the attractive Christian young men are, totally convinced that I was probably going to meet my future husband.

Well, bummer you guys, because today (so far) is not that kind of day. It's 8:34 p.m., and all I've gotten is a yak from a girl hoping that I was gay. So.

After church, I got back to my room with about 15 minutes until I needed to leave for a Mary Kay appointment.  I hadn't had lunch, so I ate a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter instead.  I do that a lot.  I ALMOST ran out the door without brushing my teeth, but then I realized that peanut butter breath is not appealing, so I stopped to take care of mine.  I didn't bother to turn the lights on, because I was in a hurry and I am nothing if not efficiency itself.  I grabbed the toothpaste and made sure to use plenty - you know, to realllly mask the smell of peanut butter.  I was brushing so fast that it took me a while to realize that it didn't taste the same. 

"Oh, it must just be kind of old." (What? No. Why would that even-? No.)

As I continued brushing, I realized that what I was distributing all over my teeth was definitely not expired toothpaste.  This toothpaste was just way too not-toothpastey.  It tasted bitter, and it wasn't dissolving in my mouth - it was slimy and it wasn't going away.  As reality set in, I checked the bottle, juuuust in case.

I turned on the light and looked at the tube on the counter.

pc: google

And promptly spit my mouthful of anti itch cream straight at the mirror, because I didn't have time to aim for the sink.  And screamed something like EW EW EW LOOK WHAT I JUST DID EW EW EW and ran into the living room and threw the stupid anti itch cream at my roommate, who, bless her soul, did not throw it back at me, but calmly read the label and told me it wasn't poisonous between fits of laughter. 

 

It takes a LOT of toothpaste to counteract the affects of brushing your teeth with hydrocortisone. 

 

Moral of the story: sometimes you go into the day expecting to meet your future husband, and most of the time (in my experience thus far) it's not that kind of day.  It's the kind of day where you brush your teeth with freaking anti itch cream and find out that someone is hoping that "the girl in the maroon baseball tee with the crutches" is gay. 

 

Good news, though.  I still believe in Hallmark movies.  Someone thinks I'm attractive.  My mouth isn't remotely itchy.  And I might be meeting my future husband tomorrow.

 

Allie

 

P.S. Lol at this real toothpaste that perfectly describes me.