Crashin' and a Cryin'

I stayed home from work today with a combination of menstrual cramps and a flu bug that had me hunched over like Quasimodo, sweating like Al Sharpton, and as emotional as Tammy Faye Baker. The emotional overload was really the worst part of it, and I'm sure my period made it worse. I cried because I didn't feel good. I cried because I didn't want to eat anything. I cried because I couldn't hold Meg because I didn't want to get her sick. I cried when I had to hold Meg for a second because Ryan needed to go to the bathroom. We rented "The Blind Side" and I cried all through that; and not because of Tim McGraw's awful hair piece.

It wasn't until about noon today that I actually started thinking I wouldn't dissolve into a puddle of sweat and tears. I felt hungry, and went to the fridge, only to discover we had absolutely nothing to eat. That made me cry. It was so bad that for a minute I considered making tomato soup out of ketchup and hot water -- only to discover we were out of ketchup. I love ketchup, so I cried more. By this time Meg was looking at me like "what a fucking baby." So, I dried my eyes, decided to leave my sickbed, and head to the store.

I should have ordered pizza instead.

Things pretty went well at the store. I got food for the week, enough ketchup for the next six years, and only cried when I couldn't find frozen green peppers, and when the Uscan wouldn't register I had already put the celery I had just bought into the bag. I got the groceries in the car, got Meg into her seat, and figured we would make it back home in time for both of us to have a nap. Then I pulled out of the parking lot, and directly into another car.

Don't worry, everyone is okay. Meg was kind of startled by the noise of my side mirror crunching into the back tail light of a minivan, but other than that was unfazed. Damage to both cars was minor, and really, it shouldn't have been a major tragedy. Oh, except for the crying.

The minute I realized what had happened I started to bawl. I mean, ugly, red faced, snotty bawling. The other driver got out of her car, screaming at me, only to be stunned into silence by my display. The 9-1-1 operator asked SEVEN times if I was sure I was okay when I called to report the crash. Ryan flew to the scene, unsure of what had happened because he couldn't understand me on the phone. When he got there he found Meg sleeping in her seat, everyone okay, and me sobbing like the Hinderberg had just fallen onto our car. When the cop wrote me the ticket (it was my fault) he apologized, told me I really shouldn't feel bad because accidents happen all the time, and said he hoped I felt better soon.

I don't know which is more embarrassing: the way I cried after the accident, or the way I cried during "The Blind Side."
I do know which one is going to cost me more though -- and that just makes me want to swear.

I guess that means I'm feeling better.