Mission: Missing Balls

I’ve had the same paint on my toes for two months.  I doubt anyone but me notices it, but my pedicure is now representing the greater redneck population.  It’s chipped to the point that more nail is showing than paint.  I’m too Type A for that to be ok.

They would have been fine if mother nature had flipped the switch and just picked one season or the other, but due to her schizophrenia, I had to keep switching between sandals and boots.

So I bought some polish remover but talked myself out of buying cotton balls because I knew I had bought a bag not long ago.  Guess what I couldn’t find when I got home… the stinking bag of cotton balls.

I do this sometimes – put things in a new safe place, but end up hiding it from myself.  So I took a deep, frustrated breath and went on a mission for the missing balls.

I sat on the bathroom floor and pulled every last thing out of the drawers and cabinets, only to learn that I’m a hoarder.

I found the tube of toothpaste I bought months ago that I was sure got left at the checkout counter.  I found about a thousand hairbands that have hidden themselves in the back of every drawer.  I found the booger sucker the hospital gave me when my son was born.  And good Lord the lotion, I have enough lotion to be soft and scented for years.

What I didn’t find was a stinking cotton ball.

So I went to the closet and pulled every last thing out of it, only to learn that my condition is worse than I thought.  I have 4 sets of sheets that don’t fit any of our beds.  Airplane blankets from a trip I took 10 years ago.  A box full of prescriptions I never finished and tube after tube of sunscreen.  Apparently, I have a lotion compulsion.

All of that to say, a 15 minute chore took two hours, two bags of donations, a bag of trash and I still have a redneck pedicure.  But I’m laying in bed with a glass of Bailey’s & cream and Netflix and don’t care anymore.






mission missing balls

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