I writhed in pain this morning and said my kidney stone was back, and Ned totally bought it.
heeeeeeeee! God, I love this holiday.
Now I have the delicate balancing act of calling my mother before she realizes what day it is, and BEFORE MY STEPFATHER COCKBLOCKS ME AND REMINDS HER, but I can't call her before the ringer is turned on on their phone. If she SEES I called, it may trigger her.
With my luck, she's completely forgotten, my stepfather has NOT cockblocked me, and she decided to read this blog first thing. That's just the kind of luck I HAVE, God, and it'd be nice if you threw me an April Fool's BONE, God.
Poor Ned was so nice to me. He grabbed my arm and sighed. "I was so worried it would come back." Then he took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you need me to do?" He had his calm, June's-losing-it voice. Ned is a nice boy, sometimes. Sadly for him, I am not a nice boy, ever. Especially on my holiday.
I DID consider writing a whole post about how I'd given a child up for adoption, and she's found me, and we were going to have our big reunion today. There's even a young girl at work who has curly hair. She totally could have been my long-lost child. I like how I'm looking for a "young" long-lost child, like my long-lost child couldn't be 30.
In other news, I had a WA this morning. Have I ever told you about WA? In college, of course, there was a group of very pot-dependent guys I knew, who lived in a large unsanitary house together. I think they all originally went to engineering school, but once they minored in pot, they all switched majors. My point is, they came up with this whole theory about how let's say you lose something, like your gloves, then one day you put your coat on and there are your gloves, in that coat's pocket.
That's a WA. And your gloves were in the WA zone.
Or you're thinking of someone you haven't seen in a long time, and the phone rings. It's that very guy.
And I'm not spelling it right. They spelled it with a big W, and the A was inside the middle hump of the W. It's way cooler that way.
I mean, they called their house the House of WA, even had checks that read that. I remember one guy had a newspaper clipping taped to his door. It was someone gesturing before a huge crowd. He drew a little bubble so the guy was saying, "WA!"
The point is, my Fitbit's batteries have been dead for, like, two months, and I really want to charge it up, because starting next Monday, Slutty Pancakes and I are going to walk four days a week. I know, man! We're tearing it up. But today? No charger.
"I can't find my Fitbit charger," I said to Ned, as he emerged from the shower.
"I'm not falling for any more of your tricks," said Ned, and it'd be a sad day indeed if losing my charger was my April Fool. I mean, when I start pretending to lose my charger, I need you to check me into a home. Lost m'mojo.
My assumption was I'd have had that charger hooked to the back of my computer, but to Iris-proof it, because that bitch will bite anything, I stuck it in the top drawer of this desk. But I looked? No charger. I looked in all the other drawers in here. Found my wig Ned got me Christmas 2012!
Anyway, nothing. No charger. "I still can't find it," I told Ned, who had other fish to fry, such as getting to work remotely on time. Ned gets there at 8:00, and leaves after 6:00 every day. Then he goes to the fucking gym, The Other Woman, and gets home and works. I am so glad I am not a responsible adult.
The point is, after removing everything from the top drawer three times, I got on Amazon to order a new charging cord and opened that desk drawer ONE MORE TIME to make sure? And there it was. The cord. On top of everything.
I guess my holiday is as good a day as any for WA.