So, it's hurricane-al here. I mean, it's raining nonstop and also hard and the park is flooded and it's blowy out and Edsel won't pee. I had to walk into the yard with him this morning, getting my pajamas wet, and stand there and force him to pee. I considered getting an umbrella for him so he'd go, but then I remembered my pride.
Heh.
The hurricaniacal weather did not stop me from gettin' my hurr done today, because hashtag perseverance. Every time I go to my hairdresser--every time!!--it's raining. I don't know what that is. But she works in this old mill
DOWN BY THE OLD MILL STREAM!
WHERE I FIRST MET YOUUUUU.
Anyway, she works in this old mill, and there's exposed brick and big ol' windows and it's a fabulous place to watch the rain. She got m'roots covered, because portrait of June-ian Gray, over here. Legend of GrayLocks, going on. If I were a tea, I'd be Earl Grey.
Once we were done, she blew me straight, and then I went outside covering my hair like a black woman. I usually don't care that much if my hurr gets wet, because hardcore tomboy, but today I did because new blowout.
How much do you wish I wouldn't say "hurr"? Who am I, Madea?
By the time I crossed the street and the parking lot, I was starting to resemble Garth, of Wayne and Garth. I was Babe-alocious. Not.
Hurr of the dog.
I headed to PetSmart, because I needed more Steely Dan kitten food. I've been feeding him canned food and his fur is like velvet now. I stupidly didn't grab any sort of hand cart or anything, mostly because I have no idea where PetSmart puts their carts. Despite this, I loaded up on two sizes of cans, plus a bag of dry kitten food, because trying not to spend a fortune on cans so supplementing a little. It's like Hamburger Helper but for kittens. Furburger Helper.
Wait.
And at the last minute I grabbed 107 of those fur-covered mice, the cheap ones, because SD fucking loves them and they disappear and I blame Edsel, as I saw him eat one once.
The point is, they loaded the 47 cans, bag of food, and 34595934093 fur mice into one plastic bag, which was fine with me because next I had to walk to the grocery store next door. They're in the same strip mall, but it is something of a walk in the blinding wind and rain of a hurricane-ish day.
You can imagine my hurr by the time I entered the store.
I am 100% out of laundry detergent, a thing I've been out of since early this week, and tomorrow I will have to wear my teal homecoming dress from 1982 unless I do laundry tonight.
So I got some laundry stuff and headed to the self-checkout, so I could check myself out and hey, good lookin'. I'll be back to pick myself up later. It'd be funny if it weren't so sad and true. Hashtag WHAT sex in 2016.
The point of this whole story is once I bought the laundry stuff and picked up my bags?
My PetSmart bag broke into a million pieces.
Cat food cans, other cat food cans, cat food cans for days, rolled all over the grocery store. Fur mice flew in all directions. The bag fell to the ground with a FLOOMP.
Everyone ran around trying to catch all the rolling cans and bring them to me, the woman wearing her Girl Scout uniform because everything else was dirty, the woman with gigantic giant big old hurricane hurr, the woman who was clearly
A
Crazy
Cat
Lady.
And right then I knew. My transformation is complete.
Sadly. Harriedly.
June
