D*mn This Snuck Up on Me ! by Nancy Fraser

I look up from my current work-in-progress and .... all of sudden ... it's the 4th of the month and I have a column due tomorrow. D*mn!

Hmm, what to write??? Do I just recycle an older column? Or, do I try and be brilliant and write something new? Decisions, decisions.

My calendars (yes, I have three) look like war zones. I'm editing two books while writing two more. My brain is surviving on coffee and (self-proclaimed) stupidity.

How did I get myself into this mess anyway??? I blame the pandemic. Why not? We're blaming it for everything else, aren't we? Isolation has given me a really distorted sense of time. It's provided me with so much "alone" time that I have a hard time judging if I'm taking on too much.

Obviously, I am, or I wouldn't have forgotten to write this column until the last minute. Perhaps, I need a vacation. Not that I can stop the stories in my head, or the deadlines, or the need for promotion just by going on vacation -- even if I could travel.

Instead of a vacation away from home, I've decided to take a vacation IN my home. So, I ...

Break out the fancy foot spa my daughter-in-law gave me two or three Christmases ago that I've never taken the time to use. It's a wonderful contraption with not just a huge, vibrating (already, I'm excited) foot massager, but it also has a hot wax tub for my weary, winter-dry feet. This should be fun!

Heck, while I'm at it, I'll make use of the equally fancy manicure kit she gave me last Christmas (I think). Quickly, I get the entire thing set up in my wide-open living area, and I'm ready to go.

First off, I spill hot, soapy water all over the now-slippery bathroom floor. Which, then, splashes out onto the carpeted hallway. Not a great start, given it takes me thirty minutes of my "stay-cation" to clean up the mess. Finally, though, everything's in place and the spa tub filled to the right level.

Feet in, I reach for the switch to turn on the vibrating base. I get a shock. I guess my hands weren't as dry as I thought. I'm suddenly having second thoughts about a foot bath and electricity. Maybe no vibrator for me (now, I'm far less excited).

Oh, and I forgot a towel! I'll have to slowly duck-walk my wet feet back to the bathroom. Or, I could just take off my T-shirt and use it to dry my feet.

Problem solved. 😁

Now, it's time for the hot wax treatment. I'm getting excited again. I read the directions carefully (okay, maybe I glanced at them). I put the appropriate number of blocks of wax into the machine and turned it on. This sucker works fast. It's ready before my feet are dry from their soak.

I carefully check the gauge on the side to make sure I've reached the correct temperature. Success! In goes the first foot. Ouch...that's hot. I'm tough, I can take it. First foot done, second foot in.

The phone...which I left in the office...rings. Loudly. It's a good thing my writing is more organized than my mini-vacation. I ignore the phone. Hopefully, it's not important.

Both feet covered in wax, I go to move the little tub out of the way and splash wax on the floor and--unfortunately--on my T-shirtless chest. Thank heaven for my sturdy, old-lady bra. Staying at home must have altered my depth perception as well, because I'm spilling stuff everywhere. Another thing to blame on isolation.

Just for the record, it hurts to peel this waxy stuff off when you haven't shaved your lower legs in forever (isolation, remember). Soak tub put aside, wax machine set aside, it's time for the manicure. I open the first bottle of polish and promptly manage to spill it on the chair-side table.

That's it ... I'm done. Screw it!

I'm going back to writing books. Lots and lots of books! As frazzled as I am, being verklempt over my screwy schedule beats having to clean up water, soap, wax and nail polish any day! Not to mention, being reminded I should shave my legs!

As for that phone call? It was my son who happened to be in town and wondered if I'd like for him to drop off some lunch from my favorite fast food place. Snooze (or not answer) and you lose, apparently.

Now, I have wax speckles on my chest, my hallway carpet is still wet, I have nail polish to scrape off my end table, and no lunch.

I hope your day is going or went better than mine!

Nancy