WHEN TUESDAYS FEEL LIKE MONDAYS

Alarm didn't go off this morning, but luckily our little 3ft alarm came in around a quarter to 4 to snuggle, sending Mommy shooting out of bed, as her flight was at 6, and the taxi would be here in less than a half hour for a 30-minute ride to the airport. 

This was gonna be tight. And Amy, in case you couldn't guess it, just HATEHATEHATES to be rushed or late.

So, after wrestling with the cabbie on the phone just trying to get him into the gate ("No, no, no," she's saying, "stop talking and listen to me!"), she waits by the trunk of the cab, impatiently tapping her foot as the decrepit old man insists on heaving her luggage in himself.

Finally on her way, I get the following text from her:

Now, he has to stop for f'ing gas!! Seriously!

And then 5 minutes later:

Oh, and now he's bitchin' at me about paying with a credit card because it'll take longer. UGH!

And then 30 seconds later:

Oh, and he smells!!!

And now I'm laughing like a loon under the covers. Then I get:

And now he's calling me 'honey'...OH, HELL NO!!!!

And there's really no point in trying to go back to sleep because two minutes later she says:

Oh, and don't forget, he's using a magnifiing glass to read the credit card slip and his Thomas guide. And we're still at the gas station. And I'm gonna strangle him!!!

Several messages later about how slow he's driving, and how she's gonna push him out and drive her damn self, she says:

I actually had to tell him to go through the damn carpool lane at the toll booth. I really think I'm being punked or else I'm on that show where they time it to see how long it takes for you to start cussing like a sailor!!

But she gets there with just minutes to spare, in her seat, and on her way. A few hours later and she texts that's she's landed. How was your flight, I ask?

Fell asleep briefly and spilled my water all over my pants.

They were white.  

And she's on her way straight into the office.  

And it's only Tuesday.