Sort of like Cinderella, but with terrycloth.

So, today was a long day. See, Jake spotted a cockroach on his door day before yesterday and that always is a bad, bad thing and for several reasons. I always try to play it cool so he doesn't pee himself but, in reality, I feel like he does. Uh, not that he does pee himself; I mean I understand how he feels. Plus, where there's one cockroach, there are 5,883,947 more. So, after killing said cockroach (which was really a palmetto bug but they're all cockroaches to me) with hairspray to stun it and then beating it to death with a rolled up copy of The Advocate, we decided to bomb the house. I got up early today and he did not. Typical. Of course, he's sleeping on the couch so the cockroach militia won't trample him...I mean, we all know they stay in one room. *eyeroll* I secretly hope several thousand nestled in his hair all night. So, I'm pissy as I begin cleaning, and tired, too. He gets up at 1pm and finishes his room while I stew over cleaning the rest of the house. Ungrateful little bastard (he's not really a bastard, I was married to his dad but I like to call him that), he does his hair while I mop. I finally make him leave, telling him I don't care where he goes, just get out of my sight. I do care, but yeah, I was in a mood. He heads to my mom's, which was a wise move on his part. At this point, I'm so exhausted I can barely stand but I gather up all four cats into carriers on the carport, then take a generic Fresca, books, magazines, cell phone, wasp spray and nail polish out with me. It turns out I was glad I took the nail polish, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I spend 3 hours out there, doing my toes and chatting with some neighbors, all the while wishing I'd shaved my legs since I was wearing shorts. I pull a cat carrier in front of my legs for most of the 3 hours. Jake comes home and we clean up all the spots the cats could lick and die, then I begin the tedious washing of every dish, laundry, etc. Fun, fun, fun. Jake asks to stay with a friend since he's afraid the roaches will be mad and out for revenge before they die. Fine, whatever, I'm still mad at him and too tired to argue. So, finally, night falls and while I still have things to wash, it's under control. I, however, am not. It was so freaking hot today that I sweated through my clothes multiple times and, grossly, I can smell myself. I reek. Hey, I'm just being honest. I go scrub with my favorite Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap and come out feeling fairly human again but tired. Very, very tired. Have I mentioned I'm tired? And I have nothing good to eat in the house. I know, that made you gasp, didn't it? Anyway, I drag my ass into some clean jeans and a t-shirt, slick my wet hair back and head for Winn-Dixie around 10pm to get a frozen pizza and orange marmalade for a pork roast I'm making tomorrow. While there, I stroll around looking at sales and pick up a few more items, chat with some people. I'm a wild woman and if you ever need proof, just refer back to this entry. I had a passing thought that, as tired and wet-rattish as I look, I blend in with the drunks that come out at night and that's just awful...but hey, I'm clean, I smell good and I can walk a straight line because I'm sober. I'm convincing myself I'm sticking out in a good way, far better than most anyone else in there at 10pm. Obviously, though, I'm delusional because, as I look down to the bottom shelf, I see my feet and this is what I saw.