I woke up this morning from a delicious dream only to find that I was in bed not with him, but with the Tuesday Booze Blues. Blue as raspberry Mr Freeze, blue as Neil Diamond's jeans. But there was milk for my breakfast and it did not rain on my way to work. I spent a quietly busy day there, burying my nose in some complicated grammar and snuftying around everyone's blogs for a little light relief. Wondering what to write for my own.
Lunchtime saw me off to the beautician's for a wax. "It's great to get these things out of the way while you're on your break, isn't it?" "Mmmmmff" I replied through gritted teeth, all too aware of my tendency to overshare in these situations (if there is a woman hovering over my ladygarden with hot wax I will tell her anything, without really meaning to). Relieved to be released from her care, I headed back to the office only to realise that she'd left a little wax on my skin and my thighs were sticking together, by mid-afternoon my knickers were firmly glued to me. And I was a hair's breadth from a strop.
"What do you do to cheer yourself up?" a friend asked, after I confided to him that I had either PMS or schizophrenia. "Cook, walk, read" I replied, knowing full well that I was going to get a taxi home and "enjoy" some cornflakes in front of Hollyoaks - the afternoon's conversations had cheered me sufficiently to warrant it. I'm in bad form. But people don't take my ill humour seriously when my hair is this curly, and nor should I, for I have nothing to be a grumpy cunt about.
So today, ladies and gentlemen, was a good day.
Lunchtime saw me off to the beautician's for a wax. "It's great to get these things out of the way while you're on your break, isn't it?" "Mmmmmff" I replied through gritted teeth, all too aware of my tendency to overshare in these situations (if there is a woman hovering over my ladygarden with hot wax I will tell her anything, without really meaning to). Relieved to be released from her care, I headed back to the office only to realise that she'd left a little wax on my skin and my thighs were sticking together, by mid-afternoon my knickers were firmly glued to me. And I was a hair's breadth from a strop.
"What do you do to cheer yourself up?" a friend asked, after I confided to him that I had either PMS or schizophrenia. "Cook, walk, read" I replied, knowing full well that I was going to get a taxi home and "enjoy" some cornflakes in front of Hollyoaks - the afternoon's conversations had cheered me sufficiently to warrant it. I'm in bad form. But people don't take my ill humour seriously when my hair is this curly, and nor should I, for I have nothing to be a grumpy cunt about.
So today, ladies and gentlemen, was a good day.
