For the love of meatloaf

Okay. So Hayley is coming home this weekend and TC is joining the three of us for dinner tomorrow night. I decide to make meatloaf. This is a bold move, people. I have never made a meatloaf that held it's shape. They taste great, but always crumble. I have tried an extra egg, tried more crumbs, fewer crumbs, letting it rest longer after baking. NOTHING works! But Hayley loves meatloaf so I decide to give it another try. The only thing was, I didn't have all the stuffs.

I decide to go to Walmart on my yunch hour so I can pick up the stuffs. Ever since my amigo-stalker, I don't like Walmart that much, but I do have to admit that it is uber convenient when you need grocies and other stuff to, like ink for your printer and calcium because you are old and your doctor told you to get some so your brittle bones done break.

As yunch-hour Walmart runs go, it was good: hit the green lights on the way, found a pretty good parking spot, school is in session, so not a lot of whacked-out, sugar-fueled kids and their bedraggled, whining parents around. Poifect.

So I go in, get my stuffs, get the ink cartridge (of course, it ended up being the wrong one! Grrrr!) When I'm ready to leave, I cruise the never-ending row of check-out lanes searching for the speediest one, which I don't know why I do because I am the jinxter and ALWAYS get caught behind the person with the unmarked item who then wants to cash in a million coupons, pay with $10 in change and put the remaining balance on a credit card that has been denied. The ones that live their lives in s..l..o..w.. motion.

But not today! Today things were golden the woman working the express lane waved me over, even though I had more than 20 items. Sa-Weet! Everything goes great and I stop in the in-store Subway (talk about convenient!) and get a tasty and low calorie sanich for yunch. I will get back to work in record time.

As I smile my good-bye to the ever-smiling greeter, I notice dark skies shadowing the cars in the parking lot and the slick, splattery spots on the pavement. It's rainin' in them thar hills.

Oh well. No big. Since I would rather look ugly at work than arise the 10 minutes early in the morning to do my hair, I'm not too concerned about the showers. I wheel to my car and put my grocies in the car. WTF? Why is that can of tomato sauce falling from the bag and -oh no!- a can of diced tomatoes is rolling under the car parked next to mine.

Naturally, one of my bags broke and now I've got to traipse through the rain and wade through the puddles to try and find my lost cannage. Grrrr. Luckily the can o'diced maters was on a good roll, so to speak, and ended up in about two inches of water on the front side of the parked car. I retrieve it, redistribute the grocies from the busted bag to other bags, close the car door and slosh my cart through the ankle-deep water to the nearest cart corral, which I almost miss because when I look up all I can see is this ginormous black and white, geometric-patterned golf umbrellie. Whoa.

Bopping underneath said umbrellie, is a stepford wife wannabee carrying a bottle of laundry detergent. Right before the cart corral, our paths cross. Our eyes meet. Since she's the one with the umbrellie, I'm expecting her to stop and let me put my cart away so I can get outta the wet. But neeeoooooo. She glares me a dirty and keeps on barreling. What a beyouch. So I come about and wait for her to pass. The rain is coming down harder every second, and Ima gettin' moist. She takes her time, but finally, I see a break and jump the cart over the wake and push it in the stall.

As I get in my car, I notice that she is parked on the other side of me and is having trouble finding her keys. Her umbrellie's flagging in the wind like a nascar flag. From the looks of things, she's getting a tad damp. Har-dee-har-har. Karma much?

So I go back to work and hit the green lights all the way back. As I approach the building, the rain is picking up pace. By the time I park, it's positively monsoonish. Do I wait it out? Doesn't look like it's gonna quit any time soon. Luckily, since I don't want to get any wetter and colder, I had discovered my somewhat broken, somewhat black (regular sized) umbrellie in the back seat when I was putting the grocies in the car. So, I get organized: I have my purse, my water bottle, my Subway, the bag of perishables I am going to put in the fridge at work until quittin' time. I open the door while attempting to get my umbrellie open, without taking flight ala Mary Popins, and make a dash for it.

Cats and dogs, people! Needless to say, it sucked. Once inside, I shake out my umbrellie and proceed to squish my way to my desk. It was bad. I reopen my umbrellie and put it in an open space to de-saturate and go to my desk to unload my burdens.

But WTF? Something's missing. Simmering succotash, I'm holding an empty Subway bag!

C'mon! Why do they make them in those weird sleeves anyway? Criminy. So, I'm thinking: best case scenario, it fell out in the car. Worst case: it's a mile down the Mississippi by now. If I were another type of person, I would have just forgotten it. But, I'm me and I'm hungie. So I grab my umbrellie and head back out.

O.M.G. It's even worse than before — wind and jellybean size rain drops — and I am practically swimming, wondering if I should turn back when I spot a white and green, water-smeared wrapper on the ground on the driver's side of my car. "Hold on, baby, mama's coming!"

I fish my sanich out of the lake that was once our company parking lot, tuck it under my arm channelling Adrian Peterson, and head for safety. Once inside, it'a kind of creepy how quiet the office is. All I hear is the ishy, squishy sound of my shoes and socks slogging a path over the hum of white noise.

Turns out my sanich was fine. I think Subway gal double wrapped (thank you, Subway gal!). I splurge and buy myself and caffeine free diet coke in the machine. So, my yunch was fine, but I am a tad uncomfortable.

I don't remember ever having to sit in wringing wet clothes for that long and it felt like it was turning to ice with the weirded out temperature control (or lack there of) climate of the office. So I spent my afternoon with that itchy, dank feeling of wet dress clothes.

Finally, about 4:30 I decide enough is enough. I blow that join and it's hardly sprinkling. Climb in the car and turn on the heat full-blast. Oh, relief! Warm, comforting air engulfing my shriveled person!

Life is good again!

But I am glad I am alone. The steam and slight stink radiating from my waterlogged dress shoes, socks and pants remind me of a fresh pile of dog shit on a winter's morn. Ewww.

Get home, dry off, pop into my comfies and start on some chili for dinner. Maybe I'll put my meatloaf together. R thinks a night in the fridge might help make it uncrumbly. I ainta fraid of no loaf!

Oh, and as much as I love the water, I'm skipping my water aerobics class tonight.