The following is what happens when I try to throw off my natural tendencies to be a grumpy stick-in-the-mud and actually go somewhere and do something fun:
1. I jump into Rigby Lake with my clothes on.
2. My face looks like a melted scoop of neapolitan ice cream after being submerged in the icy lake water in full makeup.
3. I get stranded in my canoe in the middle of the lake and have to be rescued by my friends.
4. I irritate my husband because I take too long to get back to the shore and he is already late for an appointment.
5. I say "of course I know where the car title is!" huffily, only to come home and find it necessary to tear the house apart searching for it, while wearing my soaking wet clothes from the lake.
6. I lock our car and house keys inside the house.
7. Finally able to change into something dry, I head straight to bed to warm up for a while, keeping close tabs on Ruby playing in the tub.
8. I discover Ruby has pooped in the tub.
9. Ruby refuses to put her diaper back on, and I throw up my hands in exasperation, returning to bed to calm down.
10. Ruby goes #1 on the kitchen floor.
And it's only 2:00. I think I shouldn't ever try to be fun again. Hopefully the friends who had to rescue me in the middle of the lake will interpret my antics as "party animalism" and not as "complete ineptitude," which is what they really were.