OK, so this morning was my son's last exam, and it was supposed to start at the uncivilized hour of 8:00. That wouldn't be so bad, except he's supposed to get there about half an hour before the exam. So my husband, who realizes I'm not an early riser and in fact, am amazingly grumpy in the morning (pay attention here, because that's what English teachers call "foreshadowing") volunteered to drive him.
So I tried to be helpful, because my husband had been doing all the math cramming and now was doing the driving. I asked my son whether he'd like a commuter cup of tea to bring with him, and went to the kitchen to fix it.
And of course, there was barely half a cup of tea in the carafe, so of course, I had to make more, and of course, my daughter had to wander in at that point, and of course, she wanted cinnamon toast for breakfast, so of course, we were out of cinnamon sugar, and of course, the butter was hard as a rock.
So I made a fresh pot of tea, mixed cinnamon sugar, toasted bread, buttered it, sugared it, cut the crusts off, ran it under the broiler so the butter would melt and the sugar would bubble just a bit, and then decided I deserved another cup of coffee, so I set up the Melita filter and proceeded to make a cup of coffee.
Which promptly overflowed the mug and got all over the counter, trickled to the floor down the front of the white cupboards, and puddled inside the drawer where I keep batteries and take-out menus and such.
I opened the drawer and said "Oh no! I got coffee in the drawer!" at which point my daughter said "Can you not complain to me?"
Internet, you would be proud of me. I merely told my daughter that she was done and should go upstairs to get dressed.
I then fixed my mug of coffee and went back to bed.
Luckily for all involved, my husband came home. I told him about my morning and we've decided we have new catch phrase.
Your best friend is ranting about her husband? Your mother is bored and unhappy in her retirement community? Your child falls and skins his knee? Dooce is tweeting that Maytag isn't doing whatever the hell it is that she wanted them to do?
Just say "Can you not complain to me?" I guarantee, this will flatten your opponent. Take it from me, Miss Grumpy in the Morning. I was in such shock, I actually clammed up. THIS NEVER HAPPENS.
Of course, I'm better now. I'm feeling talkative again--I don't know whether you've noticed--and I'm about to go around to the blogs in my sidebar and leave comments. Because today is National Delurking Day.
I found this out by visiting Rachel over at Southern Fairy Tales. And now I'm heading back to comment. Because Rachel wants me to, and so do Miss Manners and my mother. My daughter wants me to comment, too--as long as I'm not complaining.