Hardasses Can Be Nice Too

I am a nice person.  People who don’t really know me don’t believe that, and some people who do don’t believe it either.  When asked for an adjective to describe me, people will say “hardass,” “bitch,” “unsociable.”  The list goes on and on.  I especially get those at work. 

Is it my fault that I don’t want to get to know every single person that works in my building?  My policy:  head down, get your job done, speak with those that need to be spoken to, and trust no one.  That place is a huge gossip factory, anyway. 

I’m getting off topic.  I’m a nice person.  I even have evidence. 

I woke up this morning around 6:15 and headed straight to Dad and Karen’s to feed their beloved obese cat, Sox.  They’ve been on vacation all week and I have been cat-sitting and also watching their sump-pump to make sure their basement doesn’t overflow.  They get home today, but I thought that I would go ahead and make sure things would be pleasant upon their return.  Because I’m nice.

I went ahead and went to the grocery store by their house, because I just so happen to really like it, even though it’s so far away from mine.  I bought only healthy food and some of the essentials, like TP and paper towels.  I also bought a thing of sanitizing wipes for my office because, let’s face it, every single client of the agency has the flu. 

I then went to an assisted living center (Lord, how I detest old people) to see a side-job of mine.  I was feeling so peppy, that I even offered to help some old lady zip up her coat.  That’s right…I’m nice.

I finally made it home and got all of my groceries put away and my house picked up.  By then it was about 10:00, so I called my germbag mother and offered to do some helping out.  Because I’m nice.

Armed with Airborne, Zicam, and disinfecting hand gel, I tackled Mom’s house.  I cleaned up the kitchen and the dining room.  I went to the grocery store.  I switched around her laundry.  I even made her some of my famous cheesy mini-meatloafs.  Why?  Because I’m the good daughter nice like that.  (I only get to play good daughter because Ab lives out of town.)  I should note that I did have to be a bit of a hardass and yell at her to go lie down.  If someone else is busy, she wants to be busy.  I think she just has a hard time accepting help. 

Then I came home and my dog wanted attention.  My bitchy side took over and I said “NO” and took a nap instead.  I woke up about fifteen minutes ago, but Kizzie has been up for an hour.  She let me know by bopping her favorite squeaker toy against my comatose body…squeak!…squeak!…squeak-squeak!  For some reason, I still love that dog. 

I now plan to have some “me” time.  Meditate, eat dinner, and watch bad TV.  Pop some more Airborne and Zicam.  I’m also drinking some Crystal Lite Immunity Boost in cherry, which is rather tasty.  It’d be even tastier if I had some vodka to put in it. 

Grandma: Well my stars, isn’t that nice.


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