[ WP ] You 're late , you ca n't find your keys , and the cat has gotten out .

Ever wake up and just know it ’ s going to be one of those days? You know the kind, the one where you sleep through your alarm clock, the shower seemed to change to bipolar settings overnight ( either Mordor hot or deep-space cold ), you spill coffee on your freshly ironed work clothes and the dog used the kitchen floor as a latrine. 
 
 It was one of those days. I couldn ’ t find my keys, I was late to work and Bigglesworth had gotten out again. I don ’ t know how he does it, he can ’ t find his way out of a blanket let alone a house. I do, however, know why. He does it to mock me, why else would he meow outside the window and run away the second I see him? I never wanted a cat, but my last boyfriend thought an obligation would serve as a better anniversary present rather than a ring. 
 
 But of course, I ’ m happy he didn ’ t get me one of those, I suppose it should have been a sign. What kind of person buys their girlfriend a twelve year old cat from the pound for their fifth anniversary? 
 
 Around the time I was pulling my burnt toast from the toaster, I got a call from work, asking where I was. At the time, I worked at a restaurant as a cocktail waitress. I was late for my evening shift and Manager Nicholas Blakeslee ( of whom we called Dickless Flakeslee behind his back ) was more than upset about being an hour late. I know, I know, sleeping in and missing the 5pm deadline for work is hardly piteous, but like I said, it was one of those days. 
 
 I cursed the charcoalized toast, tossed it, flipped off Bigglesworth who sat perched in the neighbor ’ s yard, leaving a peanut sized present for my passive-aggressive-note-leaving-neighbor, Candace, and ran towards the bus stop. 
 
 And would you believe it, it started raining. It was something from a comedy, I looked about, searching for hidden cameras, waiting for Ryan Seacrest to jump out of a bush and shove a microphone in my face. I missed the first bus, ignored Ol ’ Dickless ’ s calls and waited in the rain. I wasn ’ t sure how I was going to work in sopping wet clothes, but then again I didn ’ t want to get my hopes up about that: judging by how the day was going, I wouldn ’ t be surprised if my blouse spontaneously combusted. 
 
 That ’ s where you showed up. I didn ’ t see where you came from, it seemed like you appeared at my side, umbrella out and an inviting smile on your face. You were on your way home from work. You wore a casual suit, a deep blue deepened by the weather, a white collared shirt, a tie the color of cotton candy and rain boots. Those stupid rain boots. That was the first thing I ever gave you shit for. Actually, if you remember, that was the first thing I said to you. 
 
 “ Rain boots are kind of an odd accessory to you outfit. ” 
 
 Your laugh matched your easy smile, you nodded your head and conceded, then went on to ask how my feet were getting along knowing full well my black flats housed their own oceanic microcosm. 
 
 That was the first time we met, we both skipped the next bus and haven ’ t looked back. I look back on that day and thank God for losing my keys, for sleeping it and even for that poop factory Bigglesworth. 
 
 I love you and I can ’ t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. 

