I have ants in my pants

I wouldn’t call myself manic on a normal day, but the last seven days have placed some sort of fire ants in my pants. And by fire ants in my pants, I mean: hot cold hot cold then freezing and then boiling in my pantalons because I am freaking out and does everyone do this when they buy their first home?

I know. I am an asshole for complaining because: I just bought a home and there are people who don’t have shelter. I know. Trust.

Wait. But have I mentioned? I am a first time home buyer who had her first Pre Delivery Inspection on Friday and there was a scratch across my hardwood and a crack in my cement ceiling. I wish these were euphemisms for a rocking Thursday followed by a rocking Friday, both of which left me bruised and maybe with a bite mark or two, but sadly: they are not.

Momma came with to my first, and neither her nor baba can join me for my second. Which means I will be alone with Dan The Man And His Amazing Hard Hat Which He Surely Wears To Sleep, and on whom I have a crush. He might be 80 years old. Honest, in that hardhat, I wouldn’t care if he rolled into our date in a wheelchair.

Again. Yes, I am an asshole.

Anyway. There with me in spirit will be my lawyer who makes me wee my pants in fear. He is former lead counsel for some of the biggest construction companies in Ottawa and he’s now doing my pops a favour because my pops was once VP Finance of these companies. When I sat with him the first time, I inquired, on the verge of tears: “Are you angry with me because I didn’t read the 7,042 page contract I signed?” He laughed. I almost lost bladder control. Thanks God I didn’t as I was seated on a cloth chair. phew.

Pretty sure he thinks I am a nut and how can I be my father’s seedling because I end my emails with: “Thanks for being so nice. Please don’t charge me more. Advise!”

Where was I? Oh yes, the ants in the pants. And then there’s the emotional sitch I am dealing with on the side, heightened by my ants in my pants. (I should name the ants, non?) But this will pass, as shit always does.

Tonight I am here to tell you the story of two girls with serious junk in the trunk. My girl and I busted over to Ikea to have a hot dog, lug a very huge mirror, have another hot dog, and then an ice-cream cone. Ants in the pants were on over-drive.

Neither her nor I knew how to shove the massive mirror into the trunk in the car because the trunk is not big enough. WHO MAKES THESE CARS? Clearly, not Ikea. Also, clearly: NOT PEOPLE WHO MAKE COFFEE.

She shoved; I pulled. Again, not a euphemism.

Finally, I found some rope and we made the worst rope thing we called a “knot” because we turned it into a pretty bow when all was said and done. Pretty, but not very functional. In fact, I’m pretty sure the ants in my pants were embarrassed to be in my pants and tried to commit mutiny or small suicide bombings in my pants. Which, I mean, it could have been fun and I’m pretty sure I’m game for almost anything once.

We drove down Iris, and then teleported to Baseline at 30 km an hour with a useless and bouncing trunk over this massive mirror. Amazingly, not one person honked, probably because they didn’t want to set off the crazy people in the car (with ants in their pants).

From here to Ikea it is about a 15 minute drive; no word of a lie, it took us about 40 minutes and very many very wide turns. Natasha sent me a text message: Uhm. Were you driving 20 km an hour down baseline with a bouncing trunk in a Mercedes? Mitch swears he saw you.

I told her Mitch was a liar. (Not really.)

But we made it. D-Day Minus 7. God help me. Be patient with me between now and then, please.

My ants wish me GODSPEED because I have a lot on my plate and I am doing it on my own. Terrifying. Amazing. Exciting. EXCITING!

Also, I have had a lot of coffee. COFFEE IS EXCITING!