My DUI

Earlier this month, I decided to celebrate return your shopping cart to the supermarket month.

Not on purpose. And yes, this is a bona fide hollerday. Don't believe me? Well, take it up with brownielocks, you doubting Thomas.

Anywho, upon a recent visit to the market of super, I decided that instead of procuring a wagon from inside, I would retrieve one from the parking lot, or more specifically, the curb. The resulting injury may be explained according to the following equation:

Rotator Cuff + Shopping Cart = Sling-a-Ding-Ding

In order to expedite the healing of my injured cuff, my doctor recommended that I get a massage. And really, who am I to argue with a medical professional?

The night before my massage, my body, which was traveling from Downtown Asheville toward the West Side at a speed of 55 mph, was struck by a freight train traveling from Mucus Membrane to Nasal Passageway at speed of 90 mph. Suffice to say, I did not survive the impact of the word problem.

The day of my massage, I lay face down on the table and attempted to breath through my mouth as the therapist, a former baker, kneaded me like a loaf of Jewish Rye.

I arose from the massage to discover a solid string of snot that began at the tip of my nose ended...when it hit the floor. If that were not enough, I felt crazier than Vince Clortho Keymaster of Gozer. I was keenly aware of my own inability to operate heavy machinery, but lacking a designated driver, I climbed into my zippy little Civic and swerved homeward.

Although I arrived home reasonably intact, as I stumbled up the stairs of mi casa pequena and stared at my front door, a simple thought managed to permeate my drunkin' sailor stupor: I, Little Miss Naturally Organized Home, had lost my house keys. I lay down upon my front porch, wondering if this is what pregnancy brain would be like, and called the Gatekeeper, aka my husband.

What have I learned from all of this? Two things: 1. There is a very fine line that separates those who have a place for everything from those who throw everything all over the place, and on that fateful Friday, mine hung from my schnoz to the linoleum. And 2. Frig brownielocks and get your shopping cart from inside the grocery store like a normal person! Selah.