It began like most Mondays. A grumble. A groan. The snooze button hit once (or twice..or more. Who’s counting).
I generally do nothing but the bare minimum in the morning until I’ve had my coffee. I can’t be trusted to make wise, sound decisions without it. But no caffeine today, sadly. Inspired by my cousin-in-law, Amanda, I decided to tackle Dr Oz’s 3 Day Detox Program. Drink a bunch of shakes, have some tea, pop some vitamins and POOF. Toxins gone.
So, tea it is. I hadn’t bothered to put my contacts in yet. Or my glasses. But I staggered out to the kitchen, jiggled the kettle to make sure there was water in it, and flipped on the burner.
And as I’m drying my hair and watching I Love Lucy in my vanity mirror, I smell something funny. Irk.
I race to the kitchen (slight exaggeration; my bedroom is literally two steps away, but it sounds much more exciting this way, no?). There’s smoke everywhere and the dogs are barking and the alarm is going and I said “Lawd Jesus, it’s a fire!” (If you don’t get that reference, see me after class). My beautiful burner cover. My beautiful, bright, surprisingly cute Walmart-purchase burner cover was aglow, while the kettle sat pertly by, room temperature and un-whistling. I had turned on the wrong burner. Sigh. Strike 1.
Time for the shakes. I chopped and I peeled and I squeezed an alarming mixture of fruits and vegetables that should never be consumed at the same time. One for breakfast. One for lunch. Breakfast turned out to be a dull, maroon colored concoction. Lunch? An acid green did-I-accidentally-blend-up-a-Leprechaun drink that had the texture of old, wet sand you find in your beach umbrella. I love my Ninja, but a juicer it aint.
Time to leave for work. After checking and double checking and triple checking that all burners were in the off position, I let the dogs out (finally, an answer to the age old question), and realized 1) no more snow?! and 2) it’s warm! A quick glance at the weather (61 degrees, you say?), and the heat goes off and the windows go up and I trot out the door, two shakes in hand.
And that, obviously, was another strike. Because it wasn’t until I arrived at work that I realized temps were to drop 5 degrees every hour. That’s something to look forward to.
So I spent the first three hours at work sipping slowly, delicately, begrudgingly on the maroon colored breakfast shake, all the while fantasizing about a waffle smothered in syrup. The lunch hour hovered closer and closer and I periodically peaked inside the refrigerator, the plastic tumbler emitting an otherworldly green glow. I knew the battle had been lost.
The Bible says man shall not live by bread alone, but by the word of God. What it doesn’t’ say is that man shall also not live on chunky, odd colored meal supplements. So six hours after starting, I unceremoniously ended my detox with a cheese steak. Strike 3. (At some point I will procure a juicer and try this again. Maybe I’ll make it through the first day next time.)
When I returned home in the evening, it was a balmy 46 degrees inside and the scent of burning metal still lingered in the arctic air. Talk about motivation to not sit. I cleaned like I’ve never cleaned before and warded off frost-bite simultaneously. Small win for me.
Three strikes and you’re out, right? Apparently that only applies to baseball because my evening was topped off by a slip on the iced over deck and a mishap with a cabinet door. Neither ankle or nose suffered visible damage. Another small win. I’ll take what I can get.
Here’s hoping your Monday wasn’t quite as unfortunate.