It wasn't the 102 degree fever.
It wasn't the chills.
It wasn't the funky-colored tongue.
It wasn't the tonsils that were swollen so huge that they looked like they were trying to hug one another.
It was when I bit into a Snickers egg and it tasted like ass-flavored cardboard that I went, "OMG! Batten down the hatches! Call the National Guard! Declare a National Emergency! I AM SICK!"
Just for a little reference, the last time I had stepped foot inside our Primary Care Provider's office, our street name reminded me of "redrum," meaning that it was two addresses ago, or at least nine years. I very rarely do the sick thing, and I especially don't do the sick enough to go get drugs thing. But, there I sat, suffering from what Dr. Google had declared strep throat. You know that anytime Dr. Google says something other than "You're dying," you had better take it serious.
As luck would have it, the only appointment I could get was at 4:15, which put me right smack in the middle of an Alexis-sized dilemma. In theory, that should have been plenty of time to finish the appointment and get back to daycare to pick up the kid before they closed at 6:00. The idea of a doctor's office being efficient is funny, though, so I went ahead and picked her up on my way over. There is nothing quite so fun as trying to entertain a 4-year old while contemplating which eating utensil would be best to gouge out your tonsils. (Answer = spork. Of course.)
Alexis and I piled into Audrey and made our way towards the doctor's office, her chatting her head off and me wishing I could put a sound-proof box over my head. Just when I thought the day couldn't possibly get any better, well, it did.
AWESOME.
That, my friends, is what happens when someone decides that stop signs are optional and turns left into oncoming traffic. I'm thinking that the fact that I didn't have a stop sign or light or anything and that she hit the side of my car should make it pretty clear-cut that I am not at fault. Right? Right, or at least that's what the police officer said as he cited her for failure to obey traffic signals or whatever.
The entertaining part of that little fiasco was that the woman tried to argue that she had stopped. Since the car in front of me had turned right, she must have had the right-of-way. And! And! I must have been driving really fast for her to misjudge it like that. The confused and irritated expression on the police officer's face made that little attempt at shirking the blame totally worth it, as did his ten-minute lecture on how she must be a moron. OK, so maybe he didn't call her a moron, but he did say that the evidence made it clear that I was travelling at a low rate of speed and had obviously done everything I could to avoid the collision. And then he made her repeat after him as he said, "I am at fault. I did not yield to oncoming traffic."
Big love to that police officer. Your sense of humor was the highlight of my crap-tacular day.
Actually, I take that back. A totally-fine-and-not-even-slightly-traumatized Alexis giving Audrey (my car) a hug on "her bump" was the highlight of my day. That kid has a heart of gold and then some.
Oh! Oh! Oh! AND there was another highlight to the day. A certain little post about Girl Scout cookies may have been syndicated over at BlogHer. Yup, that's a highlight, even if the first time that post ran here it led to me getting all sorts of angry emails from Girl Scout leaders declaring that I just don't understand how dangerous this world is and it's not safe for girls to go door-to-door and there is NOTHING lazy about sitting at a table at a mall and waiting for people to buy your cookies. Because, you know, there are no crazies at the mall. Ever.
Anyway, Alexis is fine. I'm considering decapitating myself until the antibiotics have a chance to kick this thing in the teeth. You should head over to BlogHer and leave a comment on the syndicated post so that I look even more special than y'all make me feel every single day.
Here's to hoping absolutely NOTHING notable happens tomorrow . . . Seriously.