Anyway, after I picked something up a the pudding store (which is what I have started calling the grocery store after a complete memory breakdown on Christmas Eve when I could not actually remember the word “grocery” only that I had bought pudding at the store), mailed two packages and bought highlighters, I found myself in the Starbucks doing this diagnostic quiz. Everything was going along ducky, till I got to this:
(17) If all the human blood in the world were poured into a cube-shaped tank, how wide would the tank be?
What the fuck?! I immediately gave up on that for now. I will probably end up doing it on the train next Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been surprised though, because something had to take the title of most brain rattling thing I’ve read lately away from the text message I received at 1am last night, after driving home from having coffee at the diner with Rich:
“So, according to the PD, I’m your drug dealer.”
Umm, I don’t have a drug dealer. I have a mailman. I have a barista. I have a guy I buy falafel from (falafel dealer?). But no drug dealer.
Turns out that an officer of the law saw he and I driving away from the Diner at the same time…because we had coffee together…and assumed that we couldn’t possibly be patronizing the 24 hour business that owns the parking lot, there must be something underhanded going on. Someone
…I feel safer already.