This morning The Tortoise and I made up from the previous day’s Gatorade “incident”.
She and I are apparently on the same schedule, although she hasn’t “officially” been visited by Aunt Flo yet. This whole week has been a series of outbursts. We’ve been crying or laughing. Not much in between, so either we both have PMS or are suffering from turrets and a bi-polar disorder. I, of course, have been able to self medicate. It is a difficult balance between girl scout cookies, salt & vinegar chips and alcohol. The Tortoise, on the other hand, currently just suffers through.
The Gatorade “incident” took place in CVS on the way to soccer practice. It really wasn’t a big deal, forgetting Gatorade. I told her we would just run in and grab one on the way. No worries. We went straight to the refrigerated section and found nothing cold. She started to panick. The hands were wringing together,feet shuffling. “There’s nothing here!” The Tortoise snapped.
Don’t steal the joy, don’t steal the joy I kept repeating to myself.
I smiled and replied, ” Just go grab one from the drink aisle. It doesn’t have to be cold.” Problem solved.
She left as I scanned the fridge for a bottle of water. I remembered that I needed one other thing too, headed to another aisle, passing the drinks. My eye caught The Tortoise just standing, hands on her head, mouth open, staring at the Gatorade.
“Now what’s the problem?”
Slowly she turned toward me, glaring. “They only sell them in 6 packs.” Now the tears were coming.
Holy crap – I could feel heat in my cheeks, my heart beat faster. Don’t steal the joy, don’t steal the joy.
“Grab a 6 pack. We’ll just put the rest in the trunk for next time” I stated, calmly. Problem solved.
I left, grabbed one last item and headed back to the drink aisle. Much to my chagrin, The Tortoise was STILL standing there. Only now she was crying.
“What now!” I exclaimed. Find the joy, find the joy, find the joy.
Somehow I missed the fire alarm go off because she started shouting, “I don’t know what flavor I want!”
“How about red?”
“I don’t know”
“I don’t know.”
Joy, Joy, Joy, J…J…”JUST PICK A STINKING GATORADE FOR PETE’S SAKE!” (I think I saw wine on the next isle.)
The Tortoise turned to me, arms flailing, “WELL FORGET IT, IF YOU’RE GOING TO RUSH ME THEN MAYBE I SHOULD JUST GET A WATER!”
I grabbed the red, headed to the counter and we didn’t speak again until this morning. I finished off a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a couple corona last night.