Angry ants in los rantypants

In the famous words of Florence:

You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
And I set fire to our bed

And that about sums up La mood on this Day of Mon.

So what’s got the angry ants going in los rantypants?

• Fighting loin fruits. Which they were all weekend. I try to impress upon each of them that the existence of the other inoculates them from solo care of a one-day incontinent La Triv, but they appear not to give two craps.

• Seriousimo staying up til midnight for the past five nights fighting his way to the top of a tower of legal briefs. Then, no matter how quiet he tries to be, waking La up upon his ingress into la marital bed of deceit*.

• Then this morning, this chump and his fracking dual leaf-blowers. Gods, La hates leaf-blowers.

• Forgetting los wedding rings, then needing to worry that some cougar-fancying bloke will try and pick me up they will go missing from Palazzo Trivialista and I will be forced to blame loin fruits or domestic help for their disappearance.

• Uploading picture of naked left hand and becoming depressed at increasingly scaly, aged nature of formerly plump, youthful handskin.

• Unreconstructed Harbour City residents farting on the bus. Leave it at home, people.

• Unforgiving nature of Harbour City sunshine taking too high a toll on formerly plump, youthful handskin and faceskin. Egads La dreads summer.

• Being greeted by enormous dead tuna upon entry to the food court beneath the Wordporium.

• Owning 22 tubes of Nars Tempest lip gloss (approximately one per handbag) and finding none in il rucksacko. Srsly, who do you have to pay around here for a functioning brain?

• Discovering presence of no more than 20 cents in la wallet. So no nerve-calming java jolt for La this morning. Not good news for anyone.

• And, finally, there was this.  La works on Level 20. Say no more.

Let’s hope my Day of Mon improves, and that yours is already infinitely better x

*For morally inclined readers or those who might accuse La of oversharing, the term ‘marital bed of deceit’ relates to the underside of the bed in its occasional role as a hideyhole for unapproved purchases. They rest there until such time as it’s officially the truth to say to Seriousimo, “What? This old thing? I’ve had it for ages…”