Alright, where the fuck are my spoons? I’m supposed to wake up every day and there’s supposed to be at least a few on my bedside table. But today? Zilch. In my zombie-like search for spoons I worked up the energy to open my bedside table drawer, but all I can find is one of those tiny strainers you use for loose-leaf tea.
For real? Because a miniature sieve is going to get me through the day? Sure, it might resemble a spoon — especially in a child’s drawing — but it’s not a spoon. It won’t even give me the energy to do a half-decent search for a real spoon.
It’s useless, and it’s all Mia’s fault. “But you’re my best friend, you can’t bail on my bachelorette party! I need you there. Besides, we’re only going to see stand-up comedy. All you have to do is sit there.” Bitch left out the part about it ending at 2 a.m.
So I went last night. I shouldn’t have, but I did because my “best friend since kindergarten” kept nagging and pleading and guilting me until I gave in. I knew my body wasn’t up for it but I thought I’d wake up with at least two spoons, not whatever the hell this thing is. I don’t even drink tea, especially not the kind that requires maximum effort for minimal flavor.
I’m going to lie here for the umpteen days it’s going to take to recover basic functionality. Mia has two days to find a new maid of honor. And she’s getting a loose-leaf tea strainer for a wedding present.