Because of AT&T

Sometimes the day ends with the hot Urologist finding you sitting on the floor of your closet eating the cake that you lied about by telling everyone it was “all gone,” because you purposefully hid the box with the remaining quarter cake in a cabinet above the microwave so that you could eat it all by yourself, because you are a really good person, and also because you spent over two solid hours on the phone with AT&T who sent a guy to bury the cable in your yard (for the second time), and (for the second time) the well trained AT&T employees managed to destroy all internet connections, and you spend all day on the phone with AT&T customer service (which is an oxymoron), and you talk to many different ladies, namely Maya, Natalia, Laura, and Monica who all oddly sound exactly the same, and you also talk to their managers who all oddly sound exactly like Maya, Natalia, Laura, and Monica, and then you finally get transferred to Bob who is somewhere in Michigan, and Bob is very sorry but cannot help in any way, and you begin to lose your decorum and yell some stuff at Bob which might have included some serious curse words and questions regarding Bob’s intellect and understanding of the gravity of the situation, and then Bob says he’s sorry for the 1000th time and that someone will be out to look at the situation but not until late tomorrow, and you secretly begin praying that Bob chokes on his Chik-Fil-A and that the CEO of AT&T’s internet goes out and no one will help HIM, and then you get proactive and drive around in your car to see if you are able to spot an AT&T truck that you can accost, but you can’t find any AT&T trucks in your hood, so you go home because you now hate everyone and everything, and get the cake down from its secret hiding place above the microwave, and take it to your closet and dig in with your bare unwashed hands, because f**k it.

And that’s when the Urologist comes in and finds you and seems unimpressed with your behavior.