While driving to work this morning, I got to thinking about how badly I need to vacuum my car (I barely vacuum my house, so I was only kidding myself) and that train of thought led me to the window clings and magnets I have plastered on my back bumper. Then I was suddenly hit with the realization that I don't actually remember seeing my most recent half marathon bumper magnet in awhile. I'm referring to this little gem that I picked up at the 2012 Monumental Marathon expo:
I parked my car, hopped out to take a look and sure enough, I was right. It was gone.
Someone stole a magnet about someone else's toenails.
While I find that thought mildly amusing, it does nothing to assuage the anger I'm feeling. Yes, it's only a magnet that cost a measly $5 and yeah, the joke's probably on me since I was the one stupid enough to put it on my car, but that doesn't change the fact that someone stole from me. I cannot for the life of me understand what possesses people to take things that don't belong to them and how they can possibly rationalize that it's perfectly okay.
This just conjures up the familiar bad feelings we experienced last summer when our bikes were stolen.
I know I shouldn't be angry over something like this, but I am. I really am.
That magnet was special in that it represented one of my big races, and it also made light of the fact that I'm insecure about my feet. For some jerkoff to just gank my personal property without a second thought is infuriating.
At least Clayton never ceases to entertain me, even on a frustrating day.
Today I went home for lunch, as usual, and found a UPS delivery notice on our door. I haven't done any online shopping lately (it's been at least a week), so I became very curious if Clayton ordered me something. (You know you're a spoiled brat when you assume that mail with other people's name on it is still intended for you.)
Looks like the package wasn't for me after all:
Please keep in mind, my husband is not some deranged weirdo who likes to buy dead animals online and display them on a shelf in our house (Although, I have seen some rather strange auctions on ebay). Clayton is currently taking an online anatomy class and in an attempt to not miss out on the experience of a face-to-face lab and lecture, he is required to perform disections at home ...
... on our kitchen table ...
... the kitchen table where we eat our meals.
At least, it was the kitchen table where we ate our meals. But not anymore, not after a fetal pig carcass has been poked and prodded on it.