Join Me in Snarkville

I always wonder about people’s reactions to this date.  When I was Young and Dumb (Y&D), I worked with a guy with a real phobia about this date. (Seriously, I really think it was an excuse to stay home and do nothing, as opposed to coming into the office to do nothing.)

If anything icky happenes today, it will be blamed on the date on the calendar instead of the true reality that all the cosmic forces hate you and are finally working together to smite you.  (oh, yes, I said smite.)

I don’t do well with the whole idea that the calendar is conspiring against me.  I think I’m completely capable of screwing up all by myself.

As an example, I give you the fact that in my blurry eyed attempt to dress my child this morning, I put on pants that were so small they ended at his knees (and no — though I thought about it — I could not claim they were shorts).  However, when I suggested, “Oh, buddy, those pants are too short, we need to get you new pants.”  My son, darling child, took one look at me and said, “but, Mama, these pants *YOU* gave me.”  — Um, yes, sweetie, I gave them to you — I also gave you those really cute newborn onesies, but you insisted on growing out of those too!

Yep, totally because of Friday the 13th — I’m going to run off in search of a black cat.