what's up, pussycat?

What's up?  The price of gas is up, as is the acid that used to hang out peacefully in my stomach, except now it's almost in my mouth.  YUM-O!  The short people's fevers are not up, they have gone back to the nearly normal range.  The cats are not up, they are snoring and farting themselves into oblivion on the sofa.  Oh, and that pesky light fixture which used to reside above my kitchen table, that's totally not up.

In one of the most spectacular cases of PAMELA, IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY, REALLY IT IS, the heavy-as-a-lead-balloon glass globe on our ancient kitchen fixture crashed at my place on the kitchen table just seconds after I got up from dinner and walked (or waddled, possibly I waddled) into the living room.

There was an amazingly loud crash, the sound of breaking glass splintered the short people's fighting into a deafening silence.  I ran to the kitchen.  (Yes, ran.  And yes, it probably was funny to watch.)

I looked around.  The stove was as I left it.  The counters were as I left them.  The kitchen table was littered with dinner dishes.  The only noticeable thing out of place?  A spatula was on the floor.  

I took a stocking-footed step forward.   WHATTHE?????  It was as if I had stepped on a bazillion tiny pieces of broken glass.  Oh wait.  That's exactly what I had done.

I looked around again.  It. Was. Ev.Ree.Whar.  Not only had the sky fallen and broken into a bazillion pieces, it landed on drinking glasses, and plates, and bowls, and serving dishes.    I will be honest with you, as I always am, my first thought after Oh Lord MY FOOT IS BLEEDING, was, THE FRENCH PRESS WAS ON THE TABLE!!!!  NO!!!! NOT THE FRENCH PRESS!!!!

The Mister had brewed some lovely coffee before he left me for Mel Brooks.  Was it?  Could it have fallen on my beloved?  Tears came to my eyes as I scanned the carnage for a sign of my lover, my friend, my French press coffee pot.   I gasped....there it was, a fraction of an inch from where the largest piece of the light sat.  

Unscathed.

Thank.God.

I caught my breath, and began to clean up.  Half a set of dishes in the trash can.  At least four glasses.  One soup bowl?  Broken into many pieces, the largest of which was resting comfortably on a high chair.   There was a quarter-sized chunk taken out of my oak table.  Millions, and I do mean millions, of tiny shards of glass stood upright in the table.  And equal number were all over the floor.

I called in the cavalry (my mother-in-law, of course) because the short people refused to stay out of the freaking kitchen whilst I cleaned.  I figured if there were another adult in the house, they would be rendered totally disinterested in rolling around in shards of glass...you know, Murphy's Law.  And also if the shorties left me (us) alone, maybe she'd help me clean up.

And she did.

We scrubbed and swept and mopped and threw away broken glass for over an hour.

Just as I was having a vague memory of a tall man with a beard *cough*The Mister *cough* adjusting the glass light fixture right before dinner, my phone beeped a text message alert.  Oddly enough, it was a text message from a tall man with a beard.  Big Boss just called.  Sounds like he wants me to be in charge of a project for the next 4-6 months.
 
My reply?  Hope he doesn't want you to hang light fixtures. *, **

This stuff doesn't happen to the Duggars.

*In his defense, he had worked the previous day from 6 am until midnight, and that day he was called to work at 4 am to pretend to plow snow, and had just completed that twelve hour shift on less than 4 hours sleep.

**In my defense, I had worked the previous day from 7 am until 10 pm, with three highly annoying short people, who, if I had been paying attention, were showing signs of being sick.  And that day, I was called to work an additional three hours in the middle of the night (probably the ones he slept) dealing with high fevers and the relentless coughing up of lungs.  Said fevers and coughing up of lungs continued for the remainder of the day, with the addition of interminable whining and refusal to a) drink anything, b) eat anything, and c) take any tylenol or motrin; also the addition of one thirty-pound two year-old to my person, a child who does not yet grasp the concept of pregnant women needing to use the potty every fifteen minutes.