A Perfect Day: When You Don’t Have to Change Your Underwear Every 30 Minutes
I'm boring. I guess you could say that I set the bar too low as to what I see as a, "Perfect" day. Some would even argue that I don't even pick the fucking bar up off the ground, but it's my perfect day, so there.
Boring though it may be, to me a perfect day is static. I get to sit in my chair and read while my wife reads beside me. Meanwhile, our 4 kiddos are actually getting along and entertaining themselves. Dinner arrives via pizza delivery and we dine in front of a Disney movie. After the movie, I rough house and tickle our 5-year-old until it's shower and bedtime. Finally, with the kiddos in bed, I ask my wife if she's in the mood for a little rough house and tickle. The day at an end, we fall asleep knowing all is right with the world, or at least in one house in the center of Stanislaus County also known as the sphincter of the galaxy.
So, perfect days are rare, if they happen at all. In order to face this sad reality my suggestion is to adopt the outlook of Monty Python and, "Always look on the bright side of life." Life sucks a good deal of the time, but it you think about it, it could be a lot worse. In fact, when I'm feeling that things couldn't get worse I remind myself that:
1. I could've contracted leprosy after coming into contact with an armadillo (yes they're carriers). With no one around to drive me, I make my way to the emergency room on foot, with bits of me falling off like breadcrumbs along the way. Though I'm thankful for the shade trees that line the sidewalk on my journey, I get bitten by a flea that happened to fall off of a squirrel as it scurries above me in one of the cool shade producing trees. Of course, with my luck the flea happens to be carrying the plague (yes squirrels are potential plague carriers), so now I'm literally falling apart and succumbing to the black death. Finally as I am within crawling distance of the hospital (my leprosy inflicted legs having fallen off somewhere between Main St. and Delbon Ave), I get bitten by a rabid fox. So, now I'm a leper, who's dying of the plague and unable to communicate because I'm also foaming at the mouth. All I could hope for under the circumstances is that someone gives me the Old Yeller treatment and puts me out of my misery.
2. As part of my routine checkup, I could've been referred to my health insurance's preferred provider at San Quentin prison's, Inmate Vocational Training Program for a prostate exam.
3. I might've been wrongfully accused of being a terrorist and taken in for questioning. Now, instead of waterboarding me (California's always in near drought conditions and no one should be wasting water) to get me to talk, maybe the CIA would strap me to a chair, place headphones on my ears and play a nonstop playlist of Taylor Swift, Nickleback, Justin Bieber, with a mixture of country music thrown in to really increase the pain. I'm not a psychologically strong person, so I'd probably end up in a drooling, catatonic state after 5 minutes of such treatment. Jokes on them! The natural 10 point reduction in IQ points caused by exposure to country music would leave me with maybe 3 IQ points left. So, not only will they not be getting any answers, they're stuck dealing with a human with the mental capacity of macaroni salad.
4. I might've accidentally gotten lost on my way to a work related home visit only to find myself in a trailer park who's toothless, banjo playing, meth addled residents view the movie, "Deliverance" as a romantic comedy. I don't wanna squeal like a pig!
5. I could've accidently found myself at a NRA convention. Although, it wouldn't be all bad. Even though I consider myself to be phallically challenged in terms of both length and girth, I'd be hung like a bull elephant when compared to the actual NRA members in attendance.
6. Maybe, after a trip to Baja California, I realize that I made a big mistake. It seems that I accidentally ingested some of Tajuana's infamous and infectious brownish-gray water. With this realization, I find myself in a remote and deserted rest area bathroom crying out in misery as my souvenir case of dysentery sends every ounce of water and waste in my body exploding and gushing down the toilet at a velocity that nearly cracks the porcelain with each twisting stomach cramp. Days later, perhaps someone would stumble upon my dried up husk in that nameless rest area toilet stall. The poor schmuck that finds me beholds my now complete dried out, mummified corpse still sitting on the toilet with my pants around my desiccated ankles. Holding me in place, my rigor mortised hands still cling to the toilet paper roll on the stall's eastern wall and the ass gasket dispenser on the stall's western wall. It is obvious that I was trying to brace myself as my life literally went down the drain, yet another miserable victim of a Tijuana margarita born anal avalanche.
7. A massive solar flare could strike the Earth boiling our atmosphere, leading to a total extinction event. The only living things to survive being cockroaches, lawyers, record company executives, and Keith Richards.
These are just a few examples of things worse than a normal, commute traffic, the kids wanting everything, and work suffocating the life out of you kind of day. So, I can't really say that perfect days exist. However, days that feel like a kick in the baby maker with white hot steel toed boots are common.
Now, a bad, definitely not perfect, having a white hot poker shoved up your anus level day is a lot like kicking heroin which I was privileged to witness many a time as a substance abuse counselor. It feels like you're going to die, your bowels turn to water as you cling to the toilet boil trying to catch your breath while you simultaneously throw up and shit yourself. Your body aches, and you shiver. Each second is agony. However, like kicking heroin, having a bad day is rarely fatal. Stay hydrated, keep a bucket near your head, and make sure there's no obstacles between you and the nearest toilet. Eventually, you'll come out the other side of it. Just make sure that you thank the person that had to clean up the messes you made along the way.