Ok, I had another post scheduled for today, but I have moved it to tomorrow because I know you want to hear of my morning brush with Karma.
Every morning I stop at the SAME gas station to get a 32 ounce diet coke, in a styrofoam cup.
It’s my thing, let it go.
So I am waiting in line, in front of a Santa Clause look alike, who’s chatting me up about how he thinks I have a red headed twin runnin’ around in Florida… when I think to myself “PLL, WHAT the heck do you think is taking so long?”
Dumb and Dumber behind the counter are apparently having some issues with the register, and everything has shut down. I continue to wait TWENTY more minutes as people with actual cash pass me and drop dollars on the counter before leaving with their morning snacks.
I have no cash.
What is this cash?
Where do I get some?
I rely on my debit card for EVERYTHING, which clearly, needs to be assessed.
Even Santa leaves the line and pays for his slim jim and natty light, swear, but I guess I didn’t remind him enough of his Floridian friend for him to spring a good deed and offer to pay for my 69 cent diet cocktail.
So I am getting pissed at this point, I know it isn’t their fault but common, PLL gots places to be.
I decide to high tail it outta there, sans paying for my merchandise. I buy things from them EVERY morning, it’s fine if this one tiny drink is on the house right? I’ll just get them back tomorrow morning. That was my rational anyway.
So I walk out, with my contraband cocktail in hand, feeling quite jailbird-esque.
I kid you not, the second I climb into jeepie, some damn invisible Christmas elf hits my hand causing the diet coke to spill in ENTIRETY all over me, and my car. The entire thing. There were almost tears.
Fabulous. No diet coke. And there is ice in my pants.
And this my friends, is WHY I need a reality show. Tune in next time, for another episode of Blondetourage. That’s definitely what I’d call it.