Success

Oh was I in a fine mood last night. Not only did I whine to the entire internet (or the three loyalists who read here daily) but I pissed and moaned to J until I am sure he had me on suicide watch. I am not sure what got into me because as per my usual nothing looked quite so dire this morning when I woke up.

J decided I needed flowers to cheer me and sent me some at work. This would have been a much more romantic gesture if they had arrived before I was leaving. But a hasty cell phone call as I was getting on the early bus had me trudging back into the office to pick up my delivery.

Which was not there.

Sigh. I missed the early bus, and would have to wait an hour and a half to leave for a really sweet gesture by my husband that never actually arrived. I mean the thought is what counts and all but I really wanted to beat those delivery people over the head because how cute is that shit? Sending your wife flowers because she has the whiniest pants in three counties? And then THWARTED by incompetent delivery services.

So I got neither the early bus or flowers but I mean I can't bitch because HI, that would make me an ungrateful wretch.

And it doesn't matter now as I am at home, wearing slippers and thermals and washing the towel that the cat puked on. Which isn't as gloomy as a scenerio as that probably reads.

I mean I didn't step in the cat puke.

That is a successful* day.

Horrifying, but does anyone else remember how to spell success by remembering the theme song to The Secret of My Succe$s?