I get that. I understand that phrase. I am an ENGLISH TEACHER FOR GOD'S SAKE. (cue lovely song from Bye Bye Birdie-NOW) I do not need a working representation of the phrase. I do not have processing delays, and do not need the hands on experience to understand it. And yet, the universe decided I did. This morning. VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING. In all it's technicolor glory. It's not enough to be 38 weeks pregnant, shaped like a bowling ball, trying to dress a toddler who is screaming bloody murder because I attempted to put socks on his little cold feet (socks? SOCKS? Are you kidding me? Pick a fight over something good, like vegetables, but SOCKS? THEY HAVE MICKEY MOUSE ON THEM. Socks are not our enemy!), a fetus doing straight up gymnastics and ricocheting off my uterine walls, while trying to crimp my hair with one hand because Halloween has been rescheduled and I just have to be 1980's Madonna, complete with mesh gloves (don't get me started, we do not reschedule holidays- we just cancel them, but this post is about s^&) when I hear this gurgle. Not like oops, I burped gurgles, like a "take cover! run for the hills! BANZAAAAAIIIIIII! gurgle. And that, my friend, is when the proverbial s$#% hit the fan. And the walls. And the floors. And the pregnant 1980's Madonna.
And that, my friends, is why RotoRooter is on speed dial.
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