pull on a rope to kill a cow
The total snowfall here in Chicago is now something like 5000 feet, with more to come. We have all made little snow tunnels and have long snorkels attached to our backs, poke it up through a breathing hole and get a mouthful of frigid air. Then it is back to scurrying. Of course Nora's school is closed because they are private-school pansies, and of course my office is open because we NEVER CLOSE. God forbid that we take a day off! Must keep publishing important scientific information for the public to misinterpret!
One of the Catholic schools listed as closed for the day is Our Lady Of The Snows, on the South Side. You'd think that if anybody could handle the weather it would be her.
During these last few workdays I have been running a lot of stupid errands—post office, Walgreen's, etc—and could I maybe just go one day without hearing a goddamn Beatles song? I don't know who decided that the Beatles are the Lowest Common Denominator of crowd-pleasing shopping music, but I am mighty sick of it. All my life I have wanted to punch Paul McCartney in the face, but the feeling is just getting more intense now that stupid fucking Beatles music is following me everywhere. If I managed a Walgreen's I would keep it really dark and play that Tones on Tail album that everyone puts on while smoking dope. This would chill out my customers and remind them that they probably need Swedish Fish in addition to Advil Cold and Sinus.
(However, that same day the music on the grocery store's PA system was “Running With The Devil,” which made me insanely happy. I tried to pick out foods that David Lee Roth would like. Certified kosher!)
At Walgreen's, my birth control was mysteriously cheaper than it usually is. Normally I get two packs for X price and this time I got three. Maybe it was a special deal, maybe it was a fuck-up, or maybe the clerk glimpsed me stomping along in my old-lady coat muttering about punching Paul McCartney in the face and was all like LET'S NOT GET THIS LADY KNOCKED UP. Whatever the reason, I made sure to skedaddle out of there before the free birth control could be taken from me. On the way out I passed Paul McCartney, on his way to buy some Look Less Like Angela Lansbury pills, and I stuck my foot out and he fell down and broke his hip. Sorry, “Sir.”
Speaking of birth control and its efficacy, I was getting ready for work and grabbed a handful of tampons for my purse (Boy Scout motto: Be Prepared) (although if you asked the average Boy Scout for a tampon I doubt he'd come through). Nora noticed and happily yelled, “Oh, a tampon! Can I help you put it in?” Wow, and uh no, you can't. Glad you're so willing to help and so comfortable with anatomy, but no.
—mimi smartypants says: nemo me impune lacessit.