I made the mistake of going to Target. This was not Target’s fault. I woke up in a bad mood. I dreamed my mom and dad were getting divorced and my mom wanted the Butcher and me to live with her in a tiny house she would pay for here in Nashville, but she kept threatening to move to Chicago if we wouldn’t stay in her apartment (I don’t know. It didn’t make sense in the dream, either), and then I came downstairs only to find that this marks day seven of the tattooed friend waiting until I came down stairs to let the juiciest grossest fart he can muster.
Which might have been funny six days ago, but today just about drove me to shove his shoe up his butt.
But I did not, because I am nice.
Anyway, yes, also Target is full of lunatic parents tryring to make the best of the sales tax holiday.
And I suck at this game, which makes me angry.
But at least my house is empty. Empty. Gloriously empty.
Maybe I’ll take a nap.