Why Val Can Never Seem to Send in Those Submissions She's Been Meaning to Write

Such grand plans I had for today.

HAD.

A package for The Pony awaited us at the dead-mouse-smelling post office, which had come in Monday afternoon, but was not available until today.

I broke my bifocals Christmas Eve. Contrary to popular opinion, it was NOT due to wearing a lampshade on my head at my sister's annual party. But close. While waiting for Hick to turn around the Tahoe so I did not have to walk the tightrope of the driveway curb to avoid the ditch, as I had done upon arrival, I stood in the teen-degree wind chill. Waiting. My bifocals jauntily perched upon my head. Chilling. I climbed into my personal cab, buckled my seatbelt, leaned forward to watch Hick narrowly miss the yard and a resident tree...and heard a crunch on top of my head. A piece fell onto my ample bosom. The oval thingy that keeps the metal from digging into the side of my nose.

First of all, I refuse to take responsibility. I was in the PASSENGER seat, by cracky! It is not adjusted to my liking. I feel like a trucker on a hoisted-up bucket seat. I set my driver's seat lower. But the passenger seat must accommodate the legs and feet of Genius riding rear shotgun. Which puts my noggin perilously close to the ceiling. I groped myself until I had the missing link. I put it in my shirt pocket for safekeeping. Hick found it later with his foot, on the tile floor of the bathroom. Who knew he had such princess-and-the-pea manhooves? Not I. The good news is that the optometrist's office was fairly bereft of patients this morning, and my ocular issue was remedied forthwith.

Oh, and that painful tooth/sinus issue of mine? Still not resolved. The confounded Convenient Care was not open Friday afternoon. Nor Monday. Nor today. I tried their main facility twenty miles south, and it was open, but with only a receptionist. Since I did not especially want a clerical worker diagnosing me, she recommended that I go next door, to the doctor used by Genius and The Pony. NOT a pediatrician, I assure you. But an osteopath. That's a long story for...never. Let's just say that my own doctor takes off the week after Christmas, and his office is in a hospital-adjacent clinic, and the parking lot is far away and crowded, and they frown upon work-ins. So I went to my kids' doc. To while away two hours and twenty minutes, but emerge triumphant with a Z-pack prescription thirteen miles away. Somewhat convenient, because I had to go there anyway to pick up a Nasonex prescription for Genius.

Perhaps I neglected to mention that we received three inches of snow last night. Which turned to a glaze of ice as it landed on the salted roadways. So the going was slow and treacherous. The Pony and I left home at 10:15 this morning, after I had called around to determine where I could haul my sinus cavities for inspection. We returned at 4:00. At which time I heated up a delicious smorgasbord of Christmas day leftovers for my lupper.

Hick is on his own tonight. Poor dear. Who had to work. But most certainly did not have grand plans.