hippo ballerina

Rube Goldberged

So I’m getting dressed to go to this party and I’m struggling to put this stupid pomade in my hair in a sad attempt to look slightly less like Guy Fieri when the light in my bathroom goes out and I still have to take a shit before I leave the house because I don’t want to go to this party with one in the chamber so I go to my kitchen and go in the cabinet above the fridge to get this one weird kind of lightbulb that my bathroom only takes because my apartment sucks and is old so I’m in the kitchen on a chair leaning over the top of my fridge digging around in the back of this dumb cabinet cursing the gods and not paying attention and I knock over a huge 5 gallon plastic jug of white vinegar that falls out of the cabinet and hits the fridge majestically spinning in the air ever so gracefully like a cartoon hippo ballerina on the way down bursting open gushing all over my kitchen floor spraying vinegar everywhere the irony being I originally bought the stupid goddamn vinegar in the fucking first place to use as a homeopathic cleaning agent when my nephew was born in case he ever came over but I’ve never actually ever used it which is fine because he’s never actually ever come over and I curse the gods again but this time I really mean it and go to get down off the chair that I was standing on but fall off of course because I’m in my bare feet and everything is wet and as I’m falling I’m flailing and reach out and happen to knock over my ironing board which I had set up in the kitchen earlier because it’s the only place in my tiny shithole apartment that I can actually fit it to iron things but more importantly because I needed to press my pants for the party tonight where I am hoping there might be some hot girls who might want to talk to me so I wanted to look like I was an adult for once in my stupid life instead of a stalled man-child in his late 30s whose pants didn’t look like they sat in the dryer for 40 extra minutes after they were done drying because he forgot they were in there and instead went to the grocery store to stock up on protein bars because he ate his last one this morning and he knows that his favorite ones always sell out by Sunday night and as I land on my side in a pool of cold wet stink the ironing board falls over onto the counter with a screech like the rusty gates of hell swinging open and I look on in horror as it knocks a bright eyed innocent platoon of empty glass iced tea bottles that I had been saving to recycle (because our apartment building finally got a recycling plan going but I haven’t had a chance to get a separate container to sort them out yet so in the meantime I’ve been stacking them all up at the end of the counter like some sort of 3rd grade art project) onto the floor where they smash like all the hopes and dreams I once had of tonight going well shooting nasty invisible shards of glass everywhere and as I’m lying on the filthy floor of my destroyed kitchen in my vinegar soaked underwear surrounded by a sparkling moat of deadly broken glass looking like Guy Fieri’s younger brother I think to myself, “next time I’ll just shit in the dark.”