A Flap's Errand

I have a dream for a nifty magazine called Errand. It's about all the fucking errands we do. So many possibilities for features and columns:

"Write a to-do list like a pro!"

"The Art of the Circular Errand Path vs. Go Where You Damn Well Please"

"Avoiding Old People--both in lines, stores AND on the Other Side of the Counter!"


But the best part of all would be the "Penthouse Forum" type section where all Errant Errand souls convene to bitch-brag. I submitted this today myself:

Dear Errand Forum:

I have a confusing word problem for you all. If it's been 85+ degrees for the last two weeks and your husband asks you to drive out to Pete's Tire Barn near the dump, and demand they look at a tire they worked on a few weeks ago because it's leaking, but he also would like you to bang downtown to the hardware store to pick up a $200.00 dehumidifier, but your grocery errands include purchasing a shit ton of Popsicles because it's high summer and for some reason you wound up bringing your ten-year old who wants whatever the store she's at is selling (SHE ASKED FOR A FUCKING TIRE) and you also need to swing by your office to pick up a few things you left there weeks ago and don't forget to swing by Staples and get clothing labels for camp and a pack of legal pads for Flap Dude and ...uh, I don't know how to figure out this word problem, but I just have one question:

What time can I start drinking and what shall it be?

It's been scorching out for days. This we know. We threw a party recently, the bar is stocked with this. I turned down my ten-year old's pleas for lip gloss, shampoo, corn chips, cup cakes, ipod cases, panda journals, a 12-pack of sharpies, candy at the hardware store, erasers, and of course, a huge tire.

Flappette, you put the "tire" in tired for me.
Bottoms up.

Flap out.