Tuesday. I generally don’t like Tuesdays, they seem to be a magnet for things going wrong.
For example, this morning. I woke up, convinced I’d heard the alarm. Got up, had a shower, wandered downstairs to get breakfast. And then noticed that the clock said it was two hours before I’d usually get up. So there’s no point heading back to bed, and there’s certainly no hope in hell that I’ll go into work. So, here I sit, knowing full well that by the time I finish the day I’ll be shattered.
Damn Tuesdays.
This is one of the terribly few times when a husband welcomes his wife saying “What are you doing?”, especially if she’s become fond, (as they all inevitably do, so I’m told,) of using a tone of voice reserved for talking to a stranger urinating into the street…
Console yourself with this thought… that you were not awakened at 6am by a pup whose response to suffering diarrhoea is to go into a blind panic and race like a dervish throughout and over the entire house and its furnishings. The initial cleaning took an hour. The remainder, which will include buying new bedding, will take rather longer. Time to build a doghouse methinks.
Fail.