don't you hate that?

You know, when you wash your favorite pair of khaki-type cargo-ish cropped-leg pants, you know the ones, they're your favorite pants because they make you feel not-so-fat, and you pull them out of the dryer, put them on, and top them with your very favorite black v-neck tee-shirt and some cute jewelry, maybe an anklet or something that looks great with those rad, black, flatter than flat leather thong sandals you found at Old Navy, and you go through all this trouble to look presentable because you have to go out but before you go out you need a cup of your favorite iced coffee from the cafe down the street because only they have the butterscotch sundae flavor you like so much so you stop and get a large and head back to your car where you make use of the handy-dandy cup holder in the Happy Bus you drive so you don't have to hold the cup while you're steering, and you're feeling really cute because your hair obeyed you and your make-up isn't smudged yet so you turn up the volume of the stereo as you're turning onto Main Street because you're in such a good mood...and when you turn the giant cup of coffee that's too big for the handy-dandy cup holder tips over and spills 32 ounces of Butterscotch Sundae, regular, no sugar onto your lap and soaks through your pants so they have a stain the size of Idaho on your right leg and ass cheek?

Yeah.

I hate that, too.