It's just another manic monday.

When I used to teach preschool we would sing this song to help the kids learn the days of the week. Unfortunately Uncle Fester, Pugsley, or Cousin It never made a guest appearance at the center. Although I will admit that a hairless or hairy creature certainly would have made that career choice much more enjoyable. 

Now, a year later and onto bigger and better things (although that is a questionable statement on some days)

I have begun to stray from my childhood favorites and have managed to stumble upon possibly much more suitable and appropriate titles for my days of the week. For Example:

Mystery Monday

Tipsy Tuesday

Wacky Wednesday

Thirsty Thursday

Fun Friday

You get the picture. Of course depending on the day it may turn into a Manic, Migraine, or Margarita Monday. Possibly even a Wordless, Wonderful, or Wine Wednesday.

Well now that your up to speed on my name game, I shall fill you in on my Thursday. I'm not sure what name to give it. Perhaps Twisted? Tired? Tearful? Or maybe just another day in the life of Emily. That is probably the best way to describe my "adventure".

I started my day off on the right foot. I was showered and had a diet coke. How could things go wrong? However, quicker then a wink of the eye I found myself face to face with a young whipper-snapper who clearly wanted to slug anything anybody in her way. Which obviously included me. As the day wore on it was clearly going to be one of those days. One crisis after another. It was filled with violence and vulgarity (is that even a word).

I managed to escape the day for an hour to go to the Doctor for my scheduled check-up. For me, the Doctor is a synonym for another D letter word - Devil. However, with the hectic day I was having even a trip to the Doctor and being violated somehow appeared to be a positive thing.

Following my appointment I was on the way to a home visit for one of my clients. As I was driving along, minding my own business, about a block from my destination what should happen?

Squeal, Honk, Bam.

Yes, that is the noise of me slamming on the breaks of Ol' Betsy.

Yes, that is the noise of me honking Ol' Betsy's horn.

And Yes, that is the noise of me slamming into the side of the green pickup truck that just happened to pull out in front me because he "didn't even see ya there".

Up, Up, Up flies his hubcap.

Up, Up, Up flies my license plate

As I pulled off to the side of the road, I calmly and collectively got out of Ol' Betsy and asked the 30-something, balding young man if he was injured. Without taking a breath he responded with the fact that he was driving his friends truck and "on his way" to pay get his car insurance. Fabulous - Just my luck.

After stating that he was on his phone and just didn't see me, he recommended just paying for the damage without a report being written. I think not. Luckily I have the police department on speed dial (one of the perks (?) of having a dangerous job). While waiting for the officer to arrive on the scene we chit chatted. He was a schmoozer and I was polite. The officer wrote the report and this fella and I exchanged cards.

Am I really that old that I should be exchanging cards? I remember the days when I would jot my number on a guys forearm. However, I felt slightly more confident about my car being fixed knowing that he at least was contributing to society in some way, shape, or form.

As I got into my car to proceed to my home visit (yes, I'm dedicated), the schmoozer recommended we get lunch/dinner following my car being fixed. As a victory? As a date? As an apology? Either way, I pulled the polite card.

No Thank You.