In 1985 Laura Numeroff wrote a delightful children’s book titled If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. For those unfamiliar, the story follows the chain of events after a mouse has been given. It’s pretty dang cute and of course, because it’s me, foreshadows what’s about to happen to you in this post. Fair warning – I may swear a bit, but I’ll try super hard to restrain from the more colorful descriptions – words that could not only mortify my relatives but make an Army NCO pause and say, “alrighty, then”. Look, blame Jr. High bullies who poked a quiet kid with glasses one too many times, an active imagination, and a talent for explaining consequences that were both descriptive and quite specific in their detail. I’m basically a Flerken (like Goose) from the Captain Marvel movies – unassuming, and I dare say, quite adorable until pushed – then the “adorableness” really boils down to taste.

What’s a Flerken? What’s a Goose? See below.

My cookie…

Before I start, you need to know that I’m ok. You should also know I’m about to rant. It’s ok to pull the ripcord now.

Friday morning, I was driving to work via IH35. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with this stretch of road, IH35 bisects the US and runs from Minnesota to Laredo, Texas, and it’s the major road running through my city. Unfortunately, the length that runs through my part of the world needs to be seriously overhauled. To address that, we’ve got a big ol’ multi-phased project underway. Unfortunately part two, we’ve barely started. Well, you all know big ol’ highway projects need to protect the men and women working on said projects as well as their worksites, so that means concrete barriers, and that there’s my drive – concrete barriers for miles and miles, which equals tighter lanes, shorter entrances, and no shoulders. The margin for error feels non-existent.

I used to drive this route to work twice a week, and it was ok – not great, maybe a bit scary at times, but manageable. Well, you may have heard there’s a huge push to get folks back into offices. More folks in the office means more cars on the road, and more cars on that stretch of IH35. So, I left at 4:30 AM that morning with the goal of getting to my gym by 5.

I drive in the middle lane where I have more options, and I feel less anxious about the barriers. Fun (not fun) story, a coworker got forced into those barriers by another driver a couple of weeks ago. He had to leave the scene in an ambulance, so that plays in a fun loop in my head and thus, away from the wall seems like a fantastic idea to me.

So again, it’s Friday at the crack of early, yelling songs like one does when I see an electric sign indicating how close I am to Hwy 183. (183 a drive milestone for me; it’s where the barriers disappear and bonus, another lane is added.) It said I was a mere six minutes away from breathing and relaxing my death grip on the steering wheel. About two minutes in, a truck is racing up my right-hand side and it’s too close. I know it’s too close. I have a semi in front of me, and look in my left mirror, which tells me things aren’t clear to get over. I feel him strike my car. (Thankfully, only the mirror). And he speeds off.

This the part where I’m going to swear a bit, so eye muffs if you’re sensitive and just skip this paragraph.

I drive a Vader snuggling Honda – one of those Vader snuggling Hondas that throws a Kylo Ren tantrum-y fit if it even thinks of wandering out of my lane. So, I KNOW I was in my lane. Do you know how Vader cuddling close you have to be to my Vader cuddling Honda to take off my Vader cuddling mirror? You may not know Hondas, so lesson one in Honda: they’re not exactly known for having mirrors that are hanging out there like some Honda dually. Those don’t exist (to my knowledge). The nerf herding sithspit managed to not hit the Vader nuzzler semi in front of me, which, fun fact, is broader than my car, so I can only assume he was capable of maintaining his lane when faced with a big bantha tush rig, but nope, not the Honda – can’t miss that – great job, Red Leader. Then the miserable nerf herding sithspit sped off while I watched bits of my mirror fly off. Out-snuggle-butting-standing.

A friend asked, “Did you swerve?” No, there was no place to swerve without endangering other people. I had to take that hit. The other question I got was, “Did you pull over?” No, as I mentioned, there’s no shoulder to pull over to and there aren’t a lot of exits leaping out between the barriers. Plus, we have to be at the office so that’s fun.

I get to the little gym, after enjoying the thrill ride of shoving hippos through laundry chutes – the fast and lose game we now play on IH35. I work out, head to my favorite shower, start the water, and get sprayed directly in the face, because the hose is broken and why not be betrayed by plumbing at this point? Like the mature woman I am, I shrieked , “Are you actually kidding me right now????” The shower did not respond; I’m certain it was deeply ashamed.

This immediately reminds me about how Jay is gone, which in turn reminds me that I have too much on my plate that I can’t get to, because I don’t have time thanks to what to me is misguided political showmanship at the expense of the widgets driving the machine, and Vader appeasing sycophants (VAS) in desperate need of cookies and reassuring pat pats, “Who’s a good VAS daggett? You are, Muffit. Yes, you are!”

(My nerd is strong. I was voted “nerdiest” in our IT shop, it’s not a small shop, think on that, and the fact I’m female. Also, I only bring up Muffit, because those in the know appreciate that Boxey and his daggett were the absolute worst just like…)

Anyway, this reminds me that I had to give up orchestra for the last concert of the season with our conductor. I’ll never see him again. He’s the best one I’ve had to date. Cool. Cool. Cool. Oh, and I had to give up my physical trainer, going to my REAL gym, using REAL equipment, and my dog. But hey, I get to pay to have someone else enjoy her so that’s awesome. Y’know, the little things that keep me stitched together. And to be fair, it’s not just me suffering, we’re all humped thanks to a Vader loving gorram Prof. X looking Muffit. (Enjoy that mashup!) But hey, all isn’t lost in the world – we took the “gay” out of the Enola Light and Happy and put America into the Gulf because… shock and awe. (Insert jazz hands.) Out ____ Standing

For Hera’s sake: who knew you’d throw such a major rod when others were invited to the table?

Everyone. Fucking Everyone. (Because sometimes you need to use real words.)

And all of this reminds me that I had to be on our messed-up stretch of the highway on a day I wouldn’t have been, which reminds me that someone sheared off my gorram mirror.

Now I want some milk (or a margarita).