I learned three important lessons this week:
- Never trust your hairdresser when she suggests a perm (#firstworldproblems).
- No good idea ever started with six tequila shots.
- I have wonderful friends.
Millennial decided to peace out on a “personal leave” (after dropping a barrage of f-bombs and crass remarks on the way out), leaving me drowning in her work for the foreseeable future. Already grappling with my hair resembling an electrocuted 80s poodle, I started off the week strong with a night of debauchery that resulted in a crippling 24-hour hangover.
I was woken up by my hungry dog lovingly swatting at my face; which is when I realized I was out of dog food. My dog is not a standard-kibble type of gal, she requires special metabolic dog food that is most cost effective in a collossal 30lb bag that I can barely drag off the shelf, much less across downtown in my self-imposed fragile state.
As I lay on the cold bathroom floor bemoaning my existence and repledging my life-long aversion to cheap tequila, I cracked one eye open to see a most-welcome message come through on my phone: Mr. P would pick up the dog food for me and drop it off.
If I wasn’t so dehydrated I think I would have cried for joy.
P.S. Mr. P was even kind enough to tell me I looked good when he saw me! (I appreciated the blatant lie.)
Total Kindness Cost: $5 in gas?