Yesterday I ran around like a chicken with her head cut off to get ready to leave today for a solo getaway.
On my list:
- Tackle Mt. Saint Laundry
- Take gross old nail polish off toes
- Print boarding passes, pack snacks and magazines, get new batteries for headphones, etc.
- Make frantic Target run to get another pair of snow pants for Trixie (hers went missing at school. Grr) and all the things required for sustenance for the rest of the family while I’m gone
- Read half a week of newspapers
- Sort through mail
- Return MGM’s overdue library book after threatening robo-call from Public Library
- Find MGM’s overdue library book in the Lego-strewn pit that is his bedroom
- Drive 90 miles to the Nearest Metropolitan Area to get my eyelash extensions re-done (I know, priorities), then drive 90 miles home
Spouse tackled a few of these chores (THANK YOU) and throughout the morning, I steadily checked items off of my list.
In the afternoon, I set off for my salon appointment.
With ten minutes to spare, I found a parking spot in the warehouse district across the street from the trendy salon I patronize. The first parking parking payment station I went to worked. I stepped inside, full of happiness.
And was promptly informed that my appointment is next Saturday.
Big sigh for my life.
(At least I was able to catch up on the newest episode of the “Serial” podcast on my way home).