The Plight of a Lab Rat
Sometimes I am a metaphorical guinea pig. Or a lab rat.
Guinea pigs are cuter. Lab rats seem more crafty, so we’ll go with that for now. 🙂
When one submits to lab rat status, one may expect to encounter any or all of the following scenarios.
(Be sure to read this in your best neutral drug advertisement voice. Be sure to go to the beach or fly a kite while you read it so as to deturr from the depiction of “this is how the risks could turn you into a teenage mutant ninja turtle.”):
- near collapsible exhaustion after 5 minutes of driving. Or standing. Or thinking.
- no more than 2 showers in a week (because standing in a shower is just that difficult)
- too much television for the kidlets in lieu of parental supervision (although I don’t think they mind)
- the futon may turn itself into a clothes closet for the entire family (aka the laundry got sorted but never put away)
- the same goes for the dishwasher. (with dishes, not clothes).
- friends may mutate into chauffeurs
- responsibility commitments may flake off like a bad sunburn
- meals may include “whatever is left” or “whatever is easy” or “whatever may survive the zombie apocalypse”
- the zombie apocalypse could happen, and you may not notice. Or you do notice but the zombies don’t bother you because they take one look and think you have already become a zombie anyway.
Often when being a lab rat, I feel as though I am the split personality of both Pinky & The Brain. A little bit cynical, serious, contemplative (and genius of course), and a little bit comedic, scatterbrained, loopy and down right going crazy.
Just for funsies: