At one point this weekend, I felt the pangs of withdrawal symptoms. Being away from my computer, any computer, for very long makes me crazy.
However, I had a wonderful time with my dad’s family all here Friday night, and with my sisters and our mother in Indy the rest of the weekend, and as I type this I’m exhausted and my kids are here and they both have migraines and I wasn’t home five minutes before I found myself standing at the stove making grilled cheese and my daughter had a flat tire and as I type she’s at WalMart (bleh) getting it fixed after waiting THREE HOURS for the automotive people to get around to her and she’s still got a migraine and we’re all more than a little sad that Big O Tires is closed on Sundays because that’s where we buy all our tires and they fix them for free. If they’re open.
But it’s Sunday night and they’re not open and WalMart is, and that’s probably how WalMart gets a lot of its business. Pay attention, Big O Tires and everyone else.
Big O Tires is the best place in the world to get tires. We have always been treated well there, and Big O has one of the best replacement/repair policies EVER. But, they’re not open on Sunday night and WalMart is. Sigh. I don’t want my daughter to drive back home on that little doughnut thing.
Tomorrow, I’m going to tell you all about this year’s BOB awards. On second thought, I might just make another post about them tonight before I get back to all those essays and quizzes I left ungraded, choosing to party and hang out with my sistahs instead. Oh, imagine.
Zappa is beside me at Hub’s computer, being tutored (don’t tell the cat; it reminds him of an unpleasant experience at the Vet’s. . .) in physics for his final this week. Poor Belle is still at WalMart. Both of my babies are shaky with migraines. Hub’s got papers to grade but he’s helping Zappa instead. I’m taking a little break and a break, of course, means I get to do this.
Mom raised her kids with better manners than to diss a business in public, but if I didn’t have so much class I would have to say, “WalMart, where do you get off making my daughter hang around for over three hours after you told her on the phone that sure, you could get her right in?” Oh, Big O Tires, if only you had Sunday hours, that you might help a damsel is distress with the warranty that is still good on all four of her tires, if you were open. But you aren’t, and that’s why she resorted to elbowing her way through the crazed hordes of WalMart shoppers, wending her way to the automotive department, only to be met with a reneged promise and an invitation to ‘take a seat,’ which is always a scary suggestion.
Did I mention that she’s been there for over three hours?
Back to work. But I’ll be baaaack. The BOBS are a-calling me, and I do love me those BOB’s.