i couldn't make this sh%t up if I tried.

So I sit down to post tonight, and the laptop is on the diningroom table, as it often is, and I think to myself, "Ya' know? I should move over to the couch. The Colbert Report is on the tube in the background, and that glass of wine I poured two hours ago is still sitting there entirely un-sipped."

I grab the laptop, move towards the couch, knock the wine glass over. Spill the entire thing all over the stack of magazines sitting on it, the remotes, the iPad (in it's cover *phew*), the knitting pattern I am working on, and the lace shawl that I am on the bind-off row of.

Thank the knitting gods, it was white wine.

I move stuff. I dry stuff. And then I notice that because my coffee table has a glass top that is resting in it's wooden frame of a support system, wine has seeped under the glass, and it's dripping, but if I let it dry, I'll never be able to pull it out again to clean, because it will be sticky. Since I have dried all the object and replaced them back on the table already, I lift the one corner up that is dripping so I can pass my towel through....and the whole glass top crashes down. Not broken, but now the entire contents of the room have scattered everywhere, including under the couch. The little dog is running off with the ball of yarn, and I'm sure she is really enjoying herself because she had already licked up the largest blob of wine that I didn't even see over on the corner of the floor tiles (thank the decorating gods for modular carpet).

Now I'm irked. And pooped. And my writing time is gone, because I also need to fix the shawl because I see that when the drunk dog ran off with the shawl, she took a bunch of stitches off the needle, too.

It's almost as good as "the dog ate my homework," I know.

Except that it's for real.



Tomorrow. Is. Another. Day.