I'm not even talking about my physique, which, really, the title of this post could describe as well.
I went to Wal-Mart today. Horror of horrors, I know, but it's really convenient to me. Mr. Monkey has been so sick lately. He called me at work, and, in a very feeble voice, requested sugar-free cough drops. I was on a mission of goodwill.
With two different bags of Ricola in hand (variety is the spice of life), I left the store and started walking in the hot summer sun to my car.
Or so I thought.
I couldn't find my damn car!
After pacing up and down several aisles, exasperated, I said quite loudly, "Where the fuck is my car?!"
A mother with two young children glared at me.
Finally, I spied my ugly beat-up purple clunker in the distance.
And this is why I'm slow (read: dumb) and unfit (read: not mother material).