Glossy, Efficient Prose, Garnished With a Pinch of Irony

Today's word of the day is MELODRAMA. Actually, it was yesterday's word, too. And the day before that.

I knew that I was leaning toward the melodramatic when, yesterday, I put my head on my desk and cried over the presence of FAT FREE half-and-half in our work kitchen. Having been out of half-and-half for days, I was momentarily elated when my colleague called me and said, "CANARY! Someone bought half-and-half! Holla'!" I nearly shouted my joy, having felt deprived, coffee-less, and decaffeinated. "Oh wait..." my coworker said sorrowfully, "it's FAT FREE. Nevermind."

Umm... What? WHAT?! Who drinks FAT FREE half-and-half?! It's an abomination, is what it is. To remove the fat from half-and-half. Like my thighs, it's fatty by nature! (Not to be confused with Naughty By Nature, the Grammy award-winning hip hop group that brought us such hits as "O.P.P." and "Everything's Gonna Be All Right," aka "Ghetto Bastard.")

Anyway, the FAT FREEness of the FAT FREE half-and-half made me put my head on my desk and cry, a reaction whose intensity may have been a tad higher than the situation called for. This made me think that I was teetering the line of the melodramatic, and perhaps I should dial down the Crazy a little.

So I did.

Until today when Mr. Mystery suggested that I not come over to his house tonight because he's sick and he doesn't want to contaminate me.

Sweet, right? His desire not to infect me? Yep, it's sweet... and it's put me in such a tizzy that I think I've actually foamed at the mouth.

Admitting that I am being an irrational, emotional, slightly crazy beyotch to the nth degree, I ask that you not judge me too harshly for what I am about to tell you. I ask this because I already know that I am being an irrational, emotional, slightly crazy beyotch and that Mr. Mystery is completely in the right to be sick and desirous of not having company during said sickness. So please, for the love of God, have some mercy on me and refrain from telling me what a horrible person I am and how mean I am being to sweetish, flu-ish, feverish Mr. Mystery. Because if you do? I will likely have a melodramatic meltdown all over your well-meaning asses.

Okay, here's why I'm being all dramatic over my not going to Mr. Mystery's:

1. My mystery man and I have gotten into the routine of spending Friday-Sunday together, but spending our weeknights apart. This means that I haven't seen my man since Sunday. I am making the assumption that my boy will continue to feel ill throughout the weekend which means...
2. ... I will not see him until NEXT weekend when we have plans to travel to my cousins' house for the 4th of July. Traveling and spending the weekend at my cousins' means...
3. ... that we will not have any alone time (and by alone time I mean HOT SEX time) for another TWO WEEKS. We also won't have the regular sort of alone time, which makes me sad, too.
4. And I haven't seen Bixby in a week and I miss my birdie.
5. And lastly, DAMN IT! I shaved my legs this morning. Cripes. I wasted days of sensitive-skin itchiness for a night spent with The Cat and another viewing of an old black and white movie, though I sort of already covered this in number 3 above.

So, there you have it. All of my selfishness wrapped up in a neat little post. I'm sorry Mr. Mystery is sick, and if I were a better woman, I'd be over there now taking care of him in his time of need. Except that I don't think he wants me there. And he hasn't turned his AC on yet and it's ass-hot here in D.C. And also I'm not good with other people's sicknesses. So in reality I wouldn't be over there nursing him back to health, but I would be over there cleaning and really, who doesn't feel better in a clean house? What sick person doesn't immediately recover after taking a nap in fresh sheets? And did I mention my smooth legs? What sick man doesn't appreciate being molested by a girl with smooth legs?

See? MELODRAMA. It's running through my veins this week and I can't seem to stop it. If I had to venture a guess as to the origin of my nuttiness, I'd blame the following:

1. Hormones. I's gots 'em.
2. Mrs. Lady Doctor has gone on vacation for two weeks. Before she went, she told me how to contact her in case of a "Mental Emergency." The words "mental emergency" have planted the idea in my head that such a thing is going to occur, so now? We're circling the Crazy Airport and getting ready to begin our approach.
3. I miss my man and am sad that he feels icky. I want to make him feel better but feel powerless to do so.
4. I don't like the idea that he doesn't want me to come over, even if his reasoning is for my own good.
5. I SHAVED MY LEGS. That should tell you about the sort of *ahem!* mood I'm in. This girlie is disappointed that her night will be less physical than she had planned it to be.
6. I bought my boy some Round-Up and wanted to give it to him. (My man loves him some weed-killing. For reals.)
7. Today's lunch was less than amazing and I'm terribly disappointed that I spent money on it.

And there it is, Internets, my horribleness. My naughty (by) nature. Feel free to contact Mr. Mystery to tell him what a bitch he's dating. It might perk him up in his time of need. Starve a cold, commiserate with a fever. You know the drill.