The Hypothetical Hell Day

Today I have the pleasure of announcing an exciting triangular guestival. I'm posting over at More Mindless Rambling, blognut is posting at Show My Face, and Cate is posting here. Our task, which we chose to accept, was to post on our hypothetical hell day. When you're done here head over to More Mindless Rambling and Show My Face. And now, I bring you Cate...

It's me, Cate, taking over Mo's blog today. Our agreed-upon topic? Hypothetical Hell Day. For him, it could be that allowing me to run amok on his blog would be part of his day from hell but it's too late for that now! I mean, I kind of like it over here. I think I'll stay awhile!

For me, Hell Day would likely fall on a Wednesday. Most Wednesdays, I'm able to work from home. This means I am able to sleep in until about 7:59am. But on Hell Day, I would not be working from home for some reason, which already puts me in a foul mood. My husband, Joe, would not realize this, allowing me to snooze for far too long.

Nothing starts my day off on the wrong foot like rushing to make it to work on time. And I do mean "on time" - my boss is quite unforgiving with the 8 o'clock sharp thing.

On this particularly awful day, something would undoubtedly make me late despite driving 80+ mph (Google tells me this is 128.75+ kw/h for those of you on Mo's side of the universe). I'm guessing it would be a school bus in my path, stopping every 20 feet to pick up the little children who are so delicate that mommy had to drive them the half a block from their house to the corner because they can't wait in the cold. Which now means mommy has to help them from the car, hugs and kisses, do you have your lunch?, have a nice day before putting them on the bus. Ugh. When I was a pretty pretty princess, I had to walk to school, uphill both ways, in the snow!

Once at work, the boss would eat my face for arriving at 8:02 without calling. Yeah, I'll "work" an extra two minutes at lunch. Since there's rarely any work to be done, "work" is only differentiated from "lunch" by whether or not the door is pulled shut while I read blogs. Bossman would then proceed to visit my office every forty minutes or so to rant and rave about something I have no control over or interest in. My boss IS the drama llama.

By the time quitting time rolls around (at exactly 5:00 pm, of course), a stress migraine would be in full-blown marching band mode. Just for kicks, cue the heavy rain and idiot drivers for the commute home. The best part of hell day is realizing I'm in my garage, no idea how I got there, and crawling upstairs to bed for a nap until Joe shows up.

After slicing my finger or burning my hand, Joe will seize control of dinner, which is just as well because I'm not going to want to eat it anyway. And it's safer for everyone involved. Migraines + fire + sharp objects = trips to the emergency room. We learned that lesson the hard way.

The evening would end with me being too stubborn to go to bed early, instead watching television until President Bush (what, I know he's not President anymore but NOTHING is more hellish to me than that!) interrupts Lost to proclaim victory over his sweatpants. Mission accomplished for sure!

And that's about all I would be able to take. At that point, I'd finally succomb to the evil of Hell Day and retreat into bed. Rather than curling up next to me for a snuggle and purr, the cat would attack my feet, causing one final increase to my blood pressure and head throbbing before I give in to the medication and passing out.