Today was one of those days.

Admit it, you’ve had one.  The teens are screaming at you in what sounds like a foreign language that you are at least twenty years too old to translate.  You catch phrases like nothing to wear, and humidity messing up hair, and party ruined.  Then the doorbell rings and the dogs go nuts, so you run around trying to keep your giant dog from jumping on unsuspecting guests…and no one believes you that he never does this.  And you forget to turn off the oven for four hours after baking cookies to satisfy a craving you only needed to satisfy because you were completely stressed out about the first two catastrophes and now the house is hot enough to bake bread during one of the hottest summers since the dinosaur age. 

Worse than that…you’re out of liquor, cough syrup, valium, and ice…not that you would indulge in any of those things.  You wouldn’t.  Well, maybe the ice.  But just thinking about medication makes you feel somewhat better. 

So you drive to the grocery store and stock up on things like milk, cheese, and bread because you suddenly feel an apocalypse coming on.

You come home and discover your husband is listening to music that hasn’t been played on the radio since…well, maybe never…and someone ate the last piece of chocolate you had hidden in the freezer.

So you sit down at your laptop to write a long email to the creator of the universe asking for answers about things like…why teenagers are such horrible creatures, and why the earth is heating up at exactly the same time you seem to be having hot flashes, and you’re just about to send it when you realize you don’t have his email address.

Now the best part about the day is that it’s almost over and you get to start fresh in the morning.  Except you aren’t ready for bed yet, so it feels like this day will never end…

And then you remember the emergency chocolate you stashed in the pantry for days like this…and wait, you have a whole jar of peanut butter in the cupboard…and ice cream in the freezer and maybe even just a little bit of whipped cream in the fridge.

And if you’re really quiet, you won’t even have to share.

Until the next time…I’ll be self-medicating with an ice cream sundae.