Caroline and the Absolutely Horrific, Awful, Ain’t No Good, #NotEnoughWine Day

The other day, I wrote about The Weez’s Very Merry Unbirthday. Oh. My. Ga! That kid has luck just like me, if I believed in luck. Anyhoo, I briefly mentioned a recent massage misfortune in that post. Since the post was supposed to be about The Weez, I didn’t want to elaborate about me, but now I do. Here’s what happened.

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This is SUCH a #notenoughwine kinda day.

First thing this AM, I misstepped in my shoe. Pretty sure that I broke something, but I’m going to ignore the snap-crackle-and-pop. I can still walk and besides, I’m achy allover and this discomfort is nothing. Feet aren’t important.

My muscles are spasming so much lately because of physical therapy for Achilles tendinitis. The physical therapist has been doing acupuncture. I LOVE it. It feels amazing, until it’s 2 hours later. My calf muscles have rebelled and are cussing me out every single minute of the day. They’re recruiting muscles from all over my body to join in solidarity and teach me a lesson. If your muscles have decided to knot up, let them be. They get very, very angry when you disturb them. To make matters worse, I’m playing tennis about 4 days a week. My muscles are seriously pissed. I need a break and need to feel better. It’s time to get a massage. Today, I left work early to do just that.

I’m high-tailing it . . . weaving in and out of traffic. MOVE IT BUDDY!! My local massage therapist is booked so I had to go 30 minutes out of my way during school dismissal traffic. Plus, I have to stop at the ATM to get cash to tip. If there is anyone you should tip, it is your massage therapist. This person is willing to massage your butt. He/she deserves a tip! HEY! I’m an equal opportunity massage therapist client and welcome anyone (who’s not a creeper) to give me a massage.

I was 5 minutes late to the appointment. FIVE, FREAKING MINUTES!! I mean, what more do you want, people?!?!?!?

Cue phone call.

No. I’m not answering this call.

CRAP. It’s The Weez. Maybe I should take this call.

All I hear is sobbing: desperate, devastated and forlorn. Her birthday is next Sunday. We were going to a concert to see her favorite bands: A Day To Remember & Bring Me The Horizon. Yep, they canceled their show.

Now, I’m technically 10 minutes late to the appointment. They bombard me that they’re behind now so they will end the session early. It did not dawn on me until AFTER I was undressed on the massage table: are they penalizing me by shortening my massage AND charging me full price?!? WTF? I can barely focus and relax knowing that The Weez is hurting and they’re giving me this crap?

Oh my ga! I NEED this massage, but that’s it. I jump up from the table and halt the session. Yes, I need this but I will NOT pay full price for an abbreviated session. I mean, I get it that I’m starting late and my end time will still be the same. But they don’t get to charge me for a full session AND deduct time from normal end time and hinder my relaxation. No. Freaking. Way. Nah-uh.*

No massage today. Now, I high-tail it home to comfort The Weez, who is determined NOT to be comforted. I get it. She’s a teenager and needs to mourn. Poor thing. (Really, poor mom. I just wanted to scoop her up and love on her and tell her that life sucks but it’s really okay and something even awesomer is going to come and, and, and . . .)

All I can do now is try to salvage the remainder of the day. I gotta make sure that today is the absolute best it can be, I have my first doubles tennis match with my trusty partner. Problem is that we haven’t hit together in over 2 months.

See this right here? Yeah, that’s our ass. It was handed to us, gift-wrapped, from inferior players. AND, our opponents over-hit and LOST 2 of my balls. If you’re not a tennis player, then you should know that this is very poor etiquette.

Speaking of balls etiquette, my partner and I had a grand text conversation about tennis balls. It was the highlight of the day. Truly it was! See for yourself.

I have balls. Tennis balls.

My partner and I are Southern Belles and were raised right. I must apologize for that. But it was totally worth it for such a suck-y day.

Now, I’m home. Stinky and in desperate need of a shower. But tonight, I’m gonna drown my sorrows in chardonnay and popcorn.

Yep, be jealous. Be jealous that I’m stinky and too tired to bathe and have cramping calf muscles and a teenager in mourning and may be sued for plagiarizing the title to the book/movie “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” by Judith Viorst.** ‘Tis the cross I bear.

*In full disclosure, turns out that my massage therapist misspoke and I misheard. She was not cutting my massage short, she just wanted to make sure that she was not extending my massage because I was late. Regardless, she was not clear in communicating with me and added to the confusion. The business did right by offering me a deep discount towards my next massage because of the circumstances.

I don’t know why I feel the need to share this part other than I try to be honest. I never named the salon or the massage therapist, so it’s completely irrelevant to the story. Yet, I just want you to know the truth.

**Also, I wanted to give some cred to Judith Viorst for writing such an amazing book. Judith, if you ever read this, I mean no copyright infringement, just respect.

Eyebrows.

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