Sometimes as a fat girl, you make dumb fat girl mistakes. Or just dumb girl mistakes. Or just dumb mistakes period. I have no idea which category all of my decision-making falls into lately, but for sure one of these. Seriously. Lets take a look at my brilliance the last few days, shall we. First, there was the day of the heavy snow fall in which I decided to park my car on the third floor of the parking garage at work. Now, luckily, I realized this dumb mistake and went out and mode both my car and BFF’s car to the covered section of parking before it started snowing too hard. Of course,I did almost slip and fall to my icy death in the process, but I corrected that lack of judgement. What I didn’t correct was not wearing snow boots to work. Sigh. Frozen feet are really not that much fun so lets chalk that one up to a dumb mistake. I managed to get home with only a slight amount of feeling missing from my feet in my tennies but hey…no gangrenous frostbite noted this time. Remember I went ahead and used my snow blower that morning while simultaneously cursing out the plow guy. What I failed to mention is the scene of me starting up said snow blower. I just bought this fine piece of machinery last year after years of breaking my back shoveling the damn drive. I was just done with doing it and not being able to share the load of work with my brother anymore meant it was all on me…I call this a smart fat girl choice. To purchase the blower. So here I am trying to remember how to start the blower from last winter. Huh. Then it hit me! I saved the manual and made sure it was sitting outside near the blower. I looked over on the dresser I have in the garage and there it is….yippee! I can now refresh my brain as to how to start the blower. I open the manual and look at it. Huh. I can’t read it…ANY of it, including how to start it. Why? Because it is in french. Yup. I saved the french version of the manual. I call this mistake a dumb girl mistake. Why? Because I didn’t even notice it was in french to begin with…who does that? Oh lordy. I finally figure out the blower from the pictures..thank god they were not in french as well. That would have sucked. And we all know I cursed the plow guy. I then filled up the tank of the blower and pushed it back into where I store it in the garage. At this point, I do kind of notice a slight gasoline smell on me as well as in the garage but I had just run it and filled it so went in and went to bed without investigating. Another dumb girl mistake.
When I got up to go to work that afternoon, I noticed a strong smell of gas in my garage. Ew. I opened my garage door and didn’t think much of it. Must be because I ran the blower or maybe I spilled gas and didn’t notice. Of course, I didn’t investigate any further. Dumb girl mistake again. Went to work and came home this morning after twelve-hour shift. Whoa. It reeks in my garage of gas. Weird. I thought it must just need some really good airing out so I will leave the garage door open while I sleep. Looked at the blower and saw a puddle underneath it but assumed it was snow melt from the blade since there was snow from my car that hadn’t completely melted off on the floor of my garage. Now we are bordering on dumb fat girl mistake by just going in to the house and going to bed. But, hey, I can chalk that one up to being tired. Luckily, I got standby from work and so started to pack for the 3 day walk event this weekend which meant I had to go out to the garage to get my bag. Holy gas fumage Batman! It actually made me light-headed it was so overpowering and the garage door had been opened all day. So what do I do? I do what any fat girl would do and spray some febreeze and open the garage window. Now we are on to the dumb fat girl mistake category. In true fat girl oblivion, I text BFF and tell her how bad it reeks in there. She answers back with smart skinny girl information. “It must be leaking gas.” Huh? Leaking gas? Nah! That can’t be it! I sit on my couch for a few more moments in true fat girl in denial and flannel jammie fashion and decide maybe I should go look at the blower. Maybe that isn’t snow melt under it. But how do I tell? Being a dumb fat girl, I ask BFF how I am supposed to know if it is snow melt or not. BFF says again with her smart skinny girl logic “Sniff it”. I really should take genius lessons from BFF cuz clearly I am missing some. So here I am in all my fat girl glory bending down in the garage in my jammies and slippers to sniff the puddle under the blower. Damn. It’s for sure not snow melt, nor is it a visit from the neighbor’s cat Moosho or from SOTL guy’s Precious. It’s gas. I move the blower out into the drive and see the said gas dripping from this fine piece of machinery. Shoot and damn. Actually I do believe the word fuck did leave my lips. So guess what the dumb fat girl gets to do tomorrow? Take the damn blower to a repair shop. Sigh.
Decision making is clearly not my thing this week….let’s hope that improves at some point. Maybe I need more sleep or a shot of genius to help me out. Time will only tell.
Oh yeah. I didn’t die today. Pretty sure I would have gone up in a big fat fiery ball if someone had lit a match near me and the damn blower today or at any point in the last few days in my garage actually, but I didn’t die. I am fat girl smelling like a mechanic running. The experiment continues…..