I have descended into the gloom of PMS. You can call me Mrs. Hyde this week. Dr. Jekyll will return to duty sometime around the weekend.
For now, the kids are monstrous, Rob is their co-conspirator and everyone in this entire cosmos is aligned against me in a universal desire to plot my downfall.
There is the really happy lady on my workout video who smiles way too big and doesn't sweat while I struggle to find the energy to finish my workout while breaking a very unattractive sweat that makes my hair frizz. Someone drank the last diet coke in the fridge at work. J.T. knocked over an entire glass of sweet tea on my freshly, not-even-dry-yet, mopped floor. Abby picked all the bulbs off my Tiger Lily. The rose bushes have aphids. The van has a flat tire. The grocery store was out of bananas. The finance report for April is off by 53 cents and I can't figure out where. Rob bumped me (though he swears he didn't) and I broke the camera. Yes, yes I know I've dropped it all on my own before, but not this time. This time it was all his fault. BUT WAIT! I was trying to take my weekly shop photo at the time, so maybe the blame for that belongs to M and Fairlie?
8 months ago