Thursday, 4 April 2013

And It's One Of Those Days

Don't you just love it.

You open an eye and you know...it's going to be one of those days.

You really should just stay in bed, not even think about bothering to get up...but you gotta!

Your mental secretary checks through you schedule for today...

Rascals to various ports of call, work, appointments, cook, clean, washing, write, catch up on emails. Busy, busy, busy.

So, up you get.

It all goes wrong when you've got no hot water, then you drop the coffee jar resulting in grains all over the floor, then you manage to concoct some form of sandwich out of goodness knows what you had in the fridge...because you forgot to order the shopping online....online for goodness sake! You didn't even have to physically go to the shop! Then after the chaos of a family of five battling to get out of the house in good time for work and childcare drop off's (gran), you sit back in you car alone, and breathe.... Music on, join the smooth flow of rush hour traffic....that's better...

.....then you realise that you forgot your sandwich!! Quick, pull into the nearest supermarket, grab a pack off the shelf, join the enormous queue...this early in the morning? Why are these people in the queue! Full trollies this time in the morning, it's your turn to pay, and you have no change...£2.50 on your debit card....a little embarrassing!

Running back to the car, your watch tells you that you're running late. The traffics building. You run your hand through your hair, then you realise you've messed it up. Frantically putting it back to a remotely respectable style you realise you've forgotten to put your make up on, the bag's at home.

A big sigh and you feel the beginnings of road rage kick in as a poor learner driver in front, through no real fault of their own turns a corner at such a slow pace the car stalls.

Pulling into the car park at work, you climb out, snagging your tights on the door, a nice ladder working its way up your leg. You pick up pace and trot at a good speed that would rival the winner of the Grand National and hit the floor with a thud...your heel caught in the paving. The heel completely off the shoe...by this time, the tears are in your eyes...why you?

As you scramble around picking your personal belongings off the floor, cursing life itself, you haul yourself to your feet and limping, rather pathetically you enter your workplace trying to ignore the stares as you pass your colleagues and into the office.

Your manager looks up at you and you are mentally daring her/him to challenge you they simply say...

"What are you doing here? You don't work Tuesdays"......