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
- 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 upthey 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…”