It had been one of the crappiest days I’d had.
I couldn’t concentrate on my work because of my anxiety, my psychiatrist, although empathetic, was probably tired of my calls, and my fingers were sore from texting Kimberloo (Mom go Something) my personal therapist, and I was pretty sure that this was the day I’d end up on the third floor tied to the bed.
And not because I was expecting a visit from Christian Grey.
The office was loud, bubbling over with happy giggles and stories from the weekend and people flowing in and out. I wanted quiet.
I peered out the window hoping for some calm.
For the warm wind rustling through the trees to somehow find its way into my office and settle the anxiety turning in my stomach.
And then I saw it.
A Muther Trucking Parking Ticket.
Are you kidding me?
I park there EVERY DAY!
I grabbed my purse and ran for the exit, not acknowledging the look of shock on my co-workers faces as I swore profusely on my way out.
“SON-OF-A-MUTHA WHO GIVES SOMEONE A TICKET WHO IS ALREADY ON THE BRINK OF A BREAK DOWN?”
When I reached my car I whisked the white piece of paper off of my windshield and felt its smooth surface between my fingers.
And then I laughed.
And I laughed!
Out loud on the street like a loon, but a full laugh that filled me with joy.
What a stupid day.
What a ridiculous thing to be so upset about.
EF you ticket.
But I really do like your choice of stationary.