In which its somehow MY fault

(written two weeks ago)

It’s 8:07 and I’m just running around like a chicken with my head cut off.  Why am I doing that?  Let’s take you back.

FLASHBACK

8:00 (phone call)

Me:                  hey, how’s it going?

Kevin:             what’s up?

Me:                  well, I looked over that spreadsheet like you wanted me to

Kevin:             ok

Me:                  and my IRA (From 1983 no less) is doing awful.

Kevin:             (laughing) yeah, your IRA sucks

Me:                  I wouldn’t last a month if I had to live on that

Kevin:             well I’ll take you to dinner sometime on mine

Me:                  wow, you’re a real sport

Kevin:             that I am

Me:                  do you know what’s funny about your financial spreadsheet?

Kevin:             what’s that?

Me:                  you still call Bank of America Nationsbank

Kevin:             hold on

Me:                  I’m surprised you don’t call it North Carolina National Bank

Kevin:             damn it Lynn

Me:                  what did I do?

Kevin:             I need you to bring me a shirt out to work

Me:                  what?

Kevin:             it’s all your fault

Me:                  what’s my fault (I should have asked what isn’t my fault)

Kevin:             I just spilled my entire coffee down my shirt

Me:                  how is that my fault?

Kevin:             I was trying to talk to you and punch in the code to the office

Me:                  and that’s my fault how?

KEvin:             you were on the phone

Me:                  bullshit

Kevin:             so I need you to bring me a shirt

Me:                  I have a class at 8:30

Kevin:             Lynn, I’m sopped

Me:                  and you’re way far away.  Are you serious?

Kevin:             I’m soaking wet

Me:                  I have an idea. I’ll call Bruce (my brother who works with Kevin)

So I call Bruce and sure enough he’s only a few minutes past my house.  He begrudgingly turns around and I run to Kevin’s closet.

Me:                  which shirt?

Kevin:             the blue one?

Me:                  which blue shirt?  There are about 20

Kevin:             the J. Crew one

Me:                  Ok? So that means there are about 19 now

Kevin:             it has a slight tear in the shoulder

Me:                  are you kidding me Kevin? These shirts are above my eyelevel.  I can’t see the damn shoulder

Kevin:             just look

Me:                  Bruce will be here in a second. He’s already pissed

Kevin:             I think it’s on your side of the closet

Me:                  well why didn’t you say that?

Kevin:             I just did

Me:                  found it

Kevin:             I’m sopped

Me:                  I gotta go

So I go outside right as Bruce is pulling up.  He scowls at me and says, “Just call me the butler” and grabs the shirt and leaves.

So here I am running late now for my class.  See all the supportive things I do for this family?? And seriously, how IS that My fault???

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to the RSS feed to have future articles delivered to your feed reader.