Today was a good day. It could have been worse.
I have to say, today was a good day. It could have been worse.
Even though I whacked my golf ball so hard it flew right off the green hitting that little boy between the eyes causing him to pass out. He did come round once the ambulance arrived. Thankfully the paramedics pronounced him well enough to carry on playing his game reassuring his parents that the golf ball-sized swelling (no pun intended) on his head would eventually go down and he wouldn’t suffer any lasting effects. It could have been worse.
Even when the spikes of my 4-inch high heels dug into the 12-foot bouncy castle, puncturing and causing it to deflate and trapping all the screaming and hysterical children in it for a few minutes. That is, until the attendants managed to untangle us all from the huge tarpaulin mess releasing the children to their frantic parents and guardians unharmed while sending me looks that could have shrunk the genitalia of an elephant.
It is not my fault that I did not notice the huge, almost billboard-sized sign right next to where we queued, which asked that people take off their shoes before getting on the bouncy castle. Nor did I realise that at the grand old age of twenty-five I should clearly not have been on the contraption meant for children 15 years and under. I can’t help it if I look fourteen! Besides I just wanted to have some fun. Anyway, it was a good day. It could have been worse.
Even when my car suddenly stalled at the traffic lights, and hard as I tried, I couldn’t restart it till the lights turned green. And the drivers behind me created a cacophony of horns that gave the BBC Symphony Orchestra a run for their money until a few kindly pedestrians took pity on me and helped push my car out of the way.
When the roadside rescue service arrived, he didn’t even pop the bonnet open but took one look at the dashboard, shook his head in exasperation while muttering under his breath then promptly informed me that there was nothing wrong with the car, I was simply out of fuel. Is it my fault that I didn’t know that the bright orange light on the dashboard indicated that the fuel gauge was nearing empty? It was a good day. It could have been worse.
Even when I walked to the nearest petrol station, which happened to be two miles away, in my 4-inch high heels of bouncy-castle-puncturing fame; my feet, a bloodied, blistered mess. I proceeded to fill a jerrycan which I had found at the entrance of the station as I was in too much agony to go into the shop to buy one. And no sooner had the fuel hit the bottom of the can than I heard a loud whoosh and felt my eyebrows and nostril singe from the heat of the flames.
I quickly flung the jerrycan to the ground. How was I to know that this was no ordinary jerrycan but a cigarette disposal bin? How was I to know that some foolish smoker had not extinguished their cigarette but before tossing it in the can? Am I a smoke detector? Thankfully the fire died out as the jerrycan hit the floor. It was a good day. It could have been worse.
I’m home now. Finally. Well, I’m not really at home but I’m in the vicinity.
I got home after the very long day I’ve had. I threw two packets of Indomie noodles into a pan of water and set it to cook while I sat and soaked my blistered feet.
I can’t tell you what happened for sure but I can swear I didn’t fall asleep. Anyway, the next thing I know there’s this loud banging and smoke everywhere. I was disoriented for a few seconds. I stood, wondering why my feet were in a bowl of tepid water. Then something or someone crashed through my front door, knocking it off its hinges and sending splintered wood flying across my front room.
I realised it was a fireman, dressed in full protective gear. I was rooted to the spot for what seemed like ages but in actual fact could only have been a few seconds. He looked around and then lurched forward as he spotted me. Faster than I could say ‘Jack’, he flung me over his right shoulder and carried me out of the apartment like a sack of potatoes.
So I’m sitting just outside the cordoned-off area near my block of flats now. Thankfully the fire which was caused by my over-cooked Indomie noodles has now been put out and it would appear it didn’t spread beyond my now rather charred and sorry-looking kitchen. I’m just waiting for the firemen to give me and my neighbours, who are now looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, the all-clear to return to our flats.
I do feel sorry for them, my neighbours I mean. It is, after all, 3am on a week night and they probably all have to go to work in a few hours. Also it can’t be any fun milling around in one’s nightwear in below freezing temperatures. However it’s not my fault that the manufacturers of Indomie noodles did not put a warning stating that their product is an incendiary device. Nor is it my fault that I am a deep sleeper and didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off leaving the fire to gather momentum, not that I’m admitting to being asleep when said fire started!
Though ‘today’ is now yesterday,it was a good day. It could have been so much worse!
PS This character needs her head examined! How much worse could the day have been to not qualify as a ‘good day’? I’m quivering in my boots just imagining what a bad day would be for her.
Hope you’ve enjoyed the story. I’d love to hear what you think.
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