So I arrive home from the beastly day job and find that A: the cat has had a Tigger fit and scattered the green onions we had growing in a glass of water all over the room. Without spilling the water. Resisting the temptation to invest in CatCam technology which would only result in hours of sleeping cat footage to catch thirty seconds of feline mayhem. Hey, I lock my computer every morning to keep the cat off the internet. There's a good reason his nickname is The Editor. I came home once and found he'd managed to rename all the icons on my desktop.
B: The power strip serving my computer equipment, as well as the microwave which keeps the boys fed, had failed. Three days before payday. Why is my computer on the same tap with the microwave? We live in a Manhattan shoe box. So I tie a knot in the shoestring, dig my claws in, and stretch it to get everything up and running again. All this after also finding -
C: A text from the dancer that his bag had just been snatched on the subway by a bunch of ding dongs. You know the ding dongs. Those punks who wait for the ding dong warning, grab anything they think looks valuable, and jump off the train just as the doors slam shut.
He was only slightly bummed out, as he'd been packed pretty light, and by the time he got home we were all visualizing the same thing. Punks see "Asian Kid" and figure his bag is full of electronic goodies. Punks snatch bag. Punks reach into bag for the cool smart phone and come out with a handful of sweaty dance belt.
Have you met ballet karma? Her name is Carabosse. Ya'll have fun with that tan spandex slingshot, ya hear?