Sunday — Series of Disasters (self invited)
A Spectacular Catastrophe
I woke up last morning with the delusional belief that I could actually be productive on a Sunday. Armed with unrealistic expectations and a questionable amount of caffeine, I launched myself into the day with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated squirrel.
Little did I know, I was about to experience a comedy of errors.
Let’s start from the very beginning. Breakfast was the first casualty. I had visions of golden, fluffy pancakes gracing my plate. I specially ordered maple syrup and blue berries, imagining that would look like a perfectly garnished plate of delicacy. Well, in reality it was far far away from what I expected. I am not blaming , but I think it was the fault of the frother as it had stopped working exactly when I needed it. Therefore, the batter turned out to be a disaster – lumpy, gloopy, and with a suspicious shade of gray. I managed to flip one pathetic pancake though, only to have it stick to the pan with the tenacity of a cling-on kid.
After 3 failed trials I realised that it's always best to stick with what you can do best- eating, not cooking. In the end, I resorted to the dignity of cereal, a sad but necessary concession to reality. Umm...I probably should have sticked to cornflakes and milk from the very beginning.
The next thing that I was supposed to do was my laundry. A seemingly simple task, all of a sudden transformed into a laundry-based apocalypse. I am still trying to figure out how my whites turned into a questionable shade of beige! I specially separated the reds to avoid turning them into pink, like what happened once. But that’s not the worst part.
My most favorite, once pristine sheets sported a mysterious black stain that would baffle even the most seasoned CSI investigator. I swear, my washing machine has a secret grudge against me. It’s plotting my wardrobe’s downfall, one garment at a time.
Next, I turned my attention to the great outdoors, or at least my tiny patch of it. With a trowel in hand and delusions of grandeur, I went on my gardening adventure. It quickly became apparent that the holes I dug resembled craters on the moon, and the plants I managed to keep upright looked perpetually traumatized.
I have become so much habituated with my fur babies jumping around all the time, I have become really bad at dealing with non mobile pets.I’m pretty sure the neighborhood crows were watching me with a mix of amusement and pity. Even they taunted me a few times before I had shush them away.
By this point, I was starting to question my life choices. Perhaps I was better suited to a career as a professional napper. Or maybe a career as a human guinea pig for failed experiments. Either way, it was clear that adulting wasn’t my forte. As I surrendered to the inevitable and retreated to the comfort of my couch, I ordered food for myself and turned on Netflix.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the universe was having a particularly good laugh at my expense. Whatever! I am done with 'adulting' now.
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