So the reason I am home in the middle of the day is karma.
You see, this random baby (We'll call her Savannah since I have a work trip coming up in Savannah, Georgia, and really, isn't Savannah just a cool sounding name anyway?) OK, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, this random baby, Savannah, pulled up to the house a couple days ago and just crawled all in like she owned the place.
I was like well damn, just come on in and make yourself at home why don't you. She just laughed and kept on scooting, carpet swimming really, across the floor. After Michael Phelpsing her way through the living room and into the bedroom where I was watching ESPN, we got caught up in conversation. I mean, when a random baby driving an Explorer busts up in your house, the least you can do is chit chat until the cops get there to arrest her for breaking and peeing.
So we were discussing who was hotter, Jessica Biel or Zoe Saldana, and which mashed up goop tasted better, blueberries or sweet potatoes, and apparently Savannah Phelps got bored with my argument for the creation of blue potatoes. She quietly swam over to the edge of the bed and tried to do a face plant off the side. (I tried to explain to her that her idol was a swimmer and not a diver, but she was not trying to hear it.) She did this a couple of times actually, so I had to poke fun of her since she was 8 months old, and as everybody knows most infants are supposed to have developed nearly adult level depth perception by this point.
As I sat there laughing, Savannah gave me a ninja kick to the olfactory center in the form of a premeditated crap with the potency of a landfill in late July, and promptly giggled to let me know that her retribution was, in fact, not over.
This brings us to yesterday. I was not feeling so hot at work, but having a strong blue collar upbringing, I was determined to make it through the day. At one point, my vision was a little blurry, and yes, my depth perception seemed to be a little off. I was walking out of the office to go the copy room when my filing cabinet jumped out and T-boned me. As I lay there holding my shin and my forehead, I sang "like a good neighbor" fully expecting my agent to pop in with some pain meds and a hot, caramel complected girlfriend to administer them -- only to realize my agent is with Farm Bureau not State Farm. (I'm going to have to talk to Lloyd about upgrading to the magic wish plan.)
Then it dawned on me that Savannah, being an infant and thus more in tune with the cosmos than adults, had put in a call on her Fisher Price cell phone to the karma gods and dialed me up some extra retribution. A very effective tactic I might add since I am home sick today because when I stand up I feel like somebody pushed me around too fast on the merry go round.
However, since I am at home, it also gives me more time to plot. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold. And my dish will be laden with cabbage, onion rings, beans, broccoli, and, yes, mashed up sweet potatoes and blueberries.
Bring it on, Savannah Phelps.