Frustration is Frustrating

Frustration. This is the only word I can use to describe today.  Let’s go back in time, and you’ll see what I mean.

         It’s 11 o’clock. My family and I are going out to lunch at a restaurant I dislike with a burning passion. My grandmother recently broke her leg, so I had to get her wheelchair out of the trunk of the car. I wheeled it over to her side of the car then went back to shut the car door. I was in a bad mood to begin with, and this caused me to shut the door in a hurry. In doing so, my finger got wedged in the trunk door.  Sounds fun, right? Totally. Tears are running down my eyes as I grasp onto my pointer finger, making sure it won’t fall off or anything. I could see the blood pooling, racing down my hand. I ran to my mom who was sitting in the driver’s seat.
         “Ew,” she cried, waving her hands between us, “go over to grandma!”
Helpful, isn’t she? Definitely.  I sprinted over to my grandma, bumping my knee on the bumper on my way.
         “AAhh! Grandma,” I shouted. Unable to determine whether the blue mark under my nail was dirt from the car; a bruise; or my personal favorite, internal bleeding that could cause death. My grandmother was busy with her first aid kit that she carries with her since my mom and uncles were, like, ten years old. Old habits die hard. Or, you know, stay alive forever. That was fine with me. I needed a band-aid! Anyways, my grandma had her alcohol wipes and was cleaning my finger then put a band-aid on it.  Okay, everything was cool now. I had  a band-aid. I wasn’t going to die.
         Let me tell you, trying to navigate a wheelchair through a restaurant-style obstacle course with a bum finger is very difficult. Once I finished maneuvering through the orange cones and up the ramp, my aunt showed up. When I’d finished telling her of my little incident, she warned I may lose my finger nail. WHAT? Gee, thanks Aunt Lauren! Not.  Then I remembered I had a manicure-pedicure scheduled that day with my mom. I better get a discount. There was no way they were doing more than nine fingers nails.
         The rest of lunch was pretty uneventful. Dessert was pretty good though. Next thing I know, we were on our way to Totally Nails. Totally nails. I’m totally serious. Hehe, come on. That’s pretty funny.  Alright, back to the story.
         We entered the store and, okay, it was pretty cool. I mean, I’m not the kind of girl who likes spas, but I was already making excuses to come back. Okay, I thought, there’s Easter, graduation, April Fool’s day . . .
         They started filling the pedicure stations with water. Remembering I had a pedicure today, I quickly shaved this morning. Unfortunately, I did it rapidly and painfully. It took awhile for the searing discomfort to go away.
         All in all, it was fun. You know, once you got past the sting in my ankles and throbbing of my finger. Being the klutz I am, I had already chipped the beautiful deep blue on my thumb nail. Oh well.
         Next we went to the mall. I had seen this amazingly awesome dress at INC for really cheap, so that’s where we went first. YES! They had my size! This was no ordinary dress. It was lavender -- which I’m not normally fond of-- with blue and white flowers and squiggly line patterns down the front middle. When I entered the dressing room area there was an open room. Again, YES! Locking the door behind me, I threw on the dress. I forgot my shirt’s neckline was small. Making my perfect hairdo from this morning crazy. (Thankfully, I had curly hair, so it looked like the straggling hairs were supposed to be this way). Smoothing out the dress, I exited the room. No. No. NO! This must not be my size. It was crazy short! Was this supposed to be a shirt? I couldn’t tell. You wouldn’t exactly call my style in. I’m more of a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops girl. But this. This was wrong. This was a tank top! Or for someone three feet tall. Sigh. There goes my dream dress. Whatever. We were going to the bookstore next. I had to get books for my summer reading list, so I knew I would be escaping with some luck today. (Okay, you caught me. It is only late March and I’m buying my summer reading list. I’m that girl. Plus I had already read half the suggested reading books.)
         This was my bookstore. I knew where everything was. Telling my mom where the book she was looking for was, I was off to the literature section. My mission: The Count of Monte Cristo, Penguin Classics, abridged version. Forgetting the list at home, I was going by my semi-photographic memory, as I call it. Dumas. I repeated, skimming the aisles.
         There. Three Musketeers, The Man in the Iron Mask, aha! There it was. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas was staring at me. With puppy-dog eyes, it beckoned for me to buy it. I scrutinized them all. All three copies they had, that is. They were all abridged. None of them, however, were Penguin classics. Great! I wanted to cry. Really, I did. This is a book I’ve been wanting to read forever! My grandpa even had a copy of it! It was at my disposal! But, no. It was unabridged.  Can’t you just hear my new, snobby English teacher saying it in that snooty way? No, you can’t read that. Why, it’s unabridged and not Penguin classics! If it‘s not penguin classics then it‘s simply useless. Get it away from me!. Scoff.
         My mom, book in hand, was ready to check out by now. She was being impatient. I didn’t care. I was not leaving here without a book. In fact, my supply had been running dangerously low.
         I remembered Ethan Frome was on the list of suggestions. This was the book I had chosen to read. Of course, my mother was simply raving about how miserably depressing it was. Gee, thanks mom. Unable to remember any more books on the eight million book list, I gave up and went to look at books to read for leisure. No success there. These other teenagers were ranting about how fabulous the Pretty Little Liars series was.  Those were not my kind of books and I usually scoffed at them when I could. I did respect them, however, because my friend had pointed out a Twilight reference in the text to me. (I am a deeply obsessed Twilight supporter.) Powerless to ignore these bothersome girls, I just gave up. I was not putting up with anything else today. Going home to veg was my best plan.
         I allowed my mom to check out. After we left, I evoked that I wanted to buy Slumdog Millionaire. Well, I was not going back. Another of today’s dreams crushed. Excellent.
         My mother and I got home and I suddenly recalled that I had ordered a CD online. I’d sent it to my grandparents house because I feared someone might steal it from the front of my house. I wasn’t sure if I’d be home. Well, I was now.
         So my mom and I journeyed out of the house to my grandparents’ place. Nothing was at the door Ugh. My mom ordered me to get the mail for my grandma and I did. There I found my box! Yay! I gave my grandma the mail then got in the car. I started to open up the box. I know, I know. It’s not like I can do anything with the CD right then. But everyone knows that feeling, where you have to open it at once. Then, me being the klutz I am, squashed my deadbeat finger trying to open the stupid box. I screamed in pain then left the box where it lay in my lap.
         We got home and  I went straight to my room. Before I could put my CD in the player, my mom was in the laundry room yelling for me. What. Now.
         She was complaining about how I had forgotten to move the blankets from the washing machine into the dryer four days ago. I heard something about them being moldy now or something. In my head, I was trying to recall her saying this. I would have distinctly remembered if she told me something to do and I forgot about it. I was, however, reminiscing about how she told me to vacuum and put the dishes away four days ago. And how I had  pretended to have vacuumed everywhere when she accused me of not finishing the dining room. After she was done fuming, she went to watch a soap opera or whatever. I knew that if I put my CD on, she would get really angry. So I feigned cleaning my room. That was safe.
         About an hour later, she was fine. I went to wash off my horrible day with brainwashing television. Then I remembered it was Saturday. Which means there was nothing on T.V to watch! That meant no vegging!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! 



         And that was my day. Want to recap? Too bad. I am not suffering through that again. I’ve already put up with typing this with a lame finger.
         If you didn’t know what frustration was before, now you do. You’re welcome.
         Thanks for listening and I hope your days are never as. . . frustrating as mine.



Alice Sparrow