Not individual children, but children in groups. Perhaps there is some sort of mathematical ratio that proves that for every five children, one must smell like wet dog.
I swear, today there were six children crowded around the front desk, bothering me and I caught the distinct odor of eau de perre. I almost gagged because I CANNOT STAND THE SMELL OF WET DOG! It's right up there with curdled milk, moldering plates of food and ass.
Also grossing me out today was this little old lady. Sweet, kind little old lady who made moist smacking noises with her mouth while I was helping her. I hate that noise. It has the same effect on me as sqeaking chalk and Fran Drescher.
I am a little hyper sensitive today. My parents went on vacation to Seattle and points north. They took my brother because he just finished law school and took the bar exam, which in Texas is 3 days long and has categories like: Name that Klansman! and Lynching Laws for Dummies. Anyway, what does this have to do with my sudden inability to deal with either moist, smacking noises or smelly children?
Well...my mother has a badass perscription plan because she works for the county. My anti-depressant medication is hella expensive, so, until her plan kicks me off at age 25, I am fully taking advantage of the steep discount. Sadly, it only works in Texas, which means that she has to fill my prescription down there and then mail it to me. Is it becoming clear yet?
My mother took off on vacation without mailing my medication. So, 3 days so far without my precious, precious medication. I'm not depressed but going through withdrawl so bad I feel like a crack addict.
Headache, nausea, irritability and a sudden, frightening urge to clean. Sunday night I ironed! IRONED! I haven't ironed since...well, shit, it's been so long, I don't even remember. Not only that but I did laundry. And cleaned the kitchen. And began cleaning my room (I have several layers to sift through, it takes a few days.)If this goes on much longer, I'll probably end up painting my house and doing craftwork. The minute I break out the needlework pattern that I've been working on since 1985, then I'll know that I have officially gone over the edge.
