Not My Day

I decided to take a box full of clothes the children have outgrown to a consignment store this morning, thinking only of cash in my pocket and not anticipating anything unsavory. Well, just as I was pulling into the parking spot, Ruth said something--which, for the life of me, I now cannot recall--that totally distracted me, and I nudged the vehicle in the next spot ever so slightly. This woke up Weston, who began crying in earnest and never went back to sleep. It also disturbed the lady that was sitting inside said vehicle, and she got out to investigate. This big, white, Dodge truck belonged to her daughter, she said, who was just inside the store and was expected out momentarily. As if on cue, said lady appeared and announced that she "just got this truck." Great. Couldn't have been pulling in next to the 20-year-old clunker, could I? So, after leaving her all my important information, I headed out for my next errand. At this point, I'm desparately needing a strong drink, so I make a beeline for the Coke machine. This reminds Ruth that she, too, is thristy. I put a dollar in the machine and out pops Ruth's bottle of water. The next dollar goes in, is cheerfully accepted by the machine, and what do I get? Jack Squat! The machine ate my dollar and gave me nothing in return! And did I have anther dollar in my wallet? No, sir. All I had was a $20. Unbelievable! Finally, with the shopping trip behind me--and you can bet a potty break was demanded when we were nowhere near the restrooms--I made my way back to the consignment store to pick up my cashola. What was this day worth to me? $3.75. Should've just stayed in bed!