I slept for ages, again, waking up here and there for insignificant things like letting the dog out and making sure he had water and food, mumbling about how I was too tired to do anything and finally, to get up and go to the convention.
Except Boyfriend was AWOL. He'd left for lunch with his parents two hours earlier, and showed up later to tell me that his sister had already been to the convention the day before, and there wasn't much there. Oh, and he was going to play some more Mario Kart with her. I was offered to come, but I didn't feel like picking out fresh clothes to go sit in cigarette smoke and then come home tempted to put my eyeballs under the shower. I politely declined in favor of playing Pokémon and doing my laundry.
The towels had dried. They weren't soft, but they weren't pot-scrubber rough and hard either, so I declared the experiment a partial success and folded them. My first load of dark laundry (where did all this dark laundry come from that we have two loads of it?) came out fine. Then I wanted to wash some red stuff (the only other colored article of clothing we had was neon green, not a color to put in with new red fabric, it seemed to me) and the machine threw a fit. It didn't want to spin anymore. No way, no how. I stopped the cycle, started a spin cycle, and after half an hour it said one minute had passed. I checked to see if it had spun. The door was stuck ("Booooooyfrieeeeeeeeeeeend!") and the clothes, if possible, were wetter than when I put them in. I hung them up anyway and was forced to put two of my clean towels under them to make sure we didn't flood the apartment, again. The drying rack is full again, so I'm off laundry duty for at least another eight hours.
Somewhere in there, Boyfriend had come home.
We discussed back and forth a bit, then decided to give healthy living the finger and go to McDonalds. By bike, so not a complete waste of calories.
We used the coupons to liberate a lot of chicken nuggets, saving half for the dogs of Chris' parents, who love them. I got a small menu with an extra burger. Except my burgers weren't immediately ready. No problem, I'd wait.
The wait was suspiciously long. It was not that surprising, since we'd come in with the post-convention crowd, but still strange. Especially when the two burgers I'd ordered were delivered to a table outside. Now, it wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that someone else had ordered the same thing as me at the same time. We hadn't been the only ones selecting food from the coupon list. But then they came with 'my' burgers. Which were so not what I'd ordered. I double-checked by opening one. I checked against what I'd ordered on a second coupon. I'd gotten the smaller, cheaper version with the other sauce that tasted weird and wrong in combination with the entire thing. So Boyfriend put on his valiant face and pleaded my case in front of the guy we'd ordered from. He immediately got two correct burgers, no fuss.
Ah, well. We ordered ice cream to go, and again got an incorrect order. To be fair, we were being kind of difficult in ordering. Four McFlurries and a large fries. Two of the flurries without toppings, one of the promotional ones and, just to test you, one with a basic topping and an extra topping of caramel sauce. The guy repeated our order three times at us. It was horribly confusing to hear it ourselves, but in the end, we left with what we thought was a correct order. Coming home, Boyfriend's ice cream was caramel-free. Or we'd been overcharged by thirty cents.
Oh well, you win some, you lose some. We got home to discover Iggy is evolving into an actual puppy. He misses us and cries when he thinks it'll make us come home sooner. He is starting to associate us scary two with treats, treats and walkies. And he is definitely using his litter box rather than the little cubby under my desk. For the low price of one serving of caramel sauce, that's a neat thing to learn.
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