My altercation: sitting on a sharp spring poking up through my seat at a theatre and having the said spring chew up the brand new just-wore-them-today-for-the-first-time jeans I bought yesterday.
It's interesting how my "off center" moments now seem to revolve around the fact that my brand spankin new jeans are now good as a salt shaker.
I was seething mad.
I wanted a pound of flesh and a pint of blood.
I wanted to scream at someone and belittle them and make them think I was some powerfully awful bitch by saying things like:
"Do you know who I AM? My Dad's uncle is best friends with a state attorney (bullshit) who is going to sue the hell out of you and this roach infested cesspool you call a theatre! I just spent a shit load of money on these jeans! Probably more than you make in a week! I want you to give me all the money I just spent on these as a compensation and then I want you to Seppuku yourself right in front of me for the horrible dishonor I have been dealt because I sat on a fucking chair that decided to chew my new jeans to shreds! The guilt you should feel should make a Catholic blush! I want you to beg forgiveness! Cry unto the heavens and beg solace from the the almighty because the chair I just sat on poked some holes in my denim! O say naught but Woe for that shall be thou name, Thou foul, detestable, boil of a creature! DIIIIIEEEE!!!!" Then a lightning bolt will fall from the sky and strike the person dead. *Scene*
Ok, so I won't go Shakespearean... I'll only blog about it and all the poor interns who work at the theatre I was just at should send a little prayer of thankfulness my way for not following through on that rant and eventual death.
Chewed up jeans aside, if this is the only thing that can throw my mood, I'm a very lucky person. Ok, fates. I learned my lesson: Don't EVER wear anything expensive or anything with an emotional attachment to a show. Let's just keep the theatre and comedy to grunge and sweatpants for the time being. 'K. Got it.
*Scene*
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