Reading FML Friday is often one of the highlights of my week. So to be writing the column myself is somewhere between a tremendous online accomplishment, and extraordinarily intimidating. And even once I knew I would be writing it this week ,my mind started wandering — should I pick a theme? What should that theme be? Maybe music, since that’s what I blog about most, and perhaps that’s what people would expect. Then again, I like to do the unexpected. Or maybe I should find some FMLs related to newborns, since my wife and I just had our first child at the end of November?
But as I started sifting through some of the more hilarious FMLs of the week, it became pretty darned clear that Christmas was going to be the big winner. Or is that loser…?
Today, I woke up on my boyfriend’s bedroom floor. When I asked him why I was there, he said I’d gotten too hot, so he rolled me off his bed. I have the flu and a fever. FML.
I’m no medical doctor — I don’t even play one on television. But I think I can be more specific about the type of flu you have. It’s wrongboyfrienditis.
I mean seriously, who does this? Men, if you’re ever wondering what to do when your girlfriend or spouse is sick, here’s a starter checklist: ginger ale, crackers, magazines, cold compresses. But whatever you do, don’t push them off the bed onto the floor while they’re sleeping. Or you’ll find yourself sleeping alone whenever you want.
As in, all the time.
You Called 911 For What Now?
Today, I woke up thinking my house was on fire because I could hear crackling flames downstairs. I panicked and tripped out of bed. It was the fireplace channel I left on last night so I could wake up to a Christmas ambiance. FML
I have to wonder — if you’d have injured yourself, would the authorities consider that a fire-related incident?
Seriously though, look at the bright side: at least you didn’t call 911, and have an entire fleet of fire trucks race towards your location only to realize it was just the television. Then not only would you have proverbial egg on your face, you’d have a lot of upset firemen on your hands (of course, if you’re a single woman, maybe that’s a good thing).
Your embarrassment might have even made the local news and resulted in an insulting nickname amongst your friends you wouldn’t be able to live down for a decade. So there’s that.
Don’t Stop Believin’
Lexy was singing the whole #Journey album yesterday and just started again today. FML
I couldn’t resist sneaking one music-related FML into the mix.
First off, it could be worse.
Actually, no it couldn’t. It’s Journey. My sincerest condolences. Although, it’s pretty rare to find someone that knows all the words to a Journey album anymore. Lexy should probably include that on her resume — especially if she’s a small town girl trying to take the midnight train (bonus for hiring managers: you’ll be able to filter out people that know lyrics to all the Journey songs).
The Perfect Christmas Potluck
I made guacamole to bring over for Christmas. Guess who forgot it in her fridge? FML
Ha, my brother can beat you on that one. He was told to make some sort of carrot dish for our Christmas celebration. Completely forgot to tell his wife until they were halfway to dinner, at which point he apologetically phoned me.
The truth is, there’s always wayyyyyyy too much food at these get-togethers. So there was no guacamole. So there were no carrots. Honestly, nobody cares. As long as there’s turkey. And dessert (preferably chocolate cake). The rest is just filler. Heck, the perfect Christmas potluck would have half the people bring turkey; and half the people bring chocolate cake.
Well okay, I love my nalysnyky too. Which we didn’t get to have this year because my mom was sick. But that’s another story for another time.
Best news? You’ve got homemade guacamole to eat on Boxing Day!
Today, I opened my Christmas present from my parents. I got a road-side assistance package. I don’t own a vehicle, and I don’t even have a driver’s license. FML
You live at home, don’t you? In the basement, probably. There’s likely even a plethora of posters with bikini-clad women on the walls. The last point’s irrelevant, but here’s the thing — the gift is a hint. Actually, less of a hint and more of a smack upside the back of the head. What is it a hint of? The fact that your parents are sick and tired of driving your sorry ass all over the damned city.
You should actually be grateful! In most of these cases, the customary gift is luggage so you can pack your stuff and get OUT. That’s probably coming, though… Next Christmas would be my guess.
Image by Jackie on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License.