When you’re a 35-year-old operating on 4 hours of puke-scented sleep who has spent the day sitting sitting in front of the TV watching quality children’s programming with the weight of a hot, sick kid on your chest, your mind starts to go to strange places.
Places like this….
“Handy Manny is really good. He’s like the perfect contractor.”
“Seriously, the guy needs to come over here. I’ve got all kinds of things for him to fix… And I am KIND of married to Mr. Lopart… (Hah! That was a good one, Krista!)”
“Maybe he could even make me those built-in bookcases I’ve been wanting.”
“I mean, he really is that good… And no one ever seems to have to pay him. He’s right in my price range.”
“No one pays him because he gets all his stuff for free from that Kelly chick. She is SO into him.”
“I bet his Angie’s List reviews would be hilarious… People would be like, ‘either I was hallucinating or his tools were talking!'”
“Oh my God, did I just spend the last five minutes talking to myself about contracting with a cartoon character? I used to think about economic theory and social justice and stuff. I used to speak three languages. Oh dear Lord, what has become of me?”
“Sh*t… Oh sh*t… Where’s the puke bucket? Where did I put it?! Why can’t I find it? I knew it! I’m losing my mind.”
“Oh screw it, just puke in my coffee mug.”