Somehow I thought there was a law stating that Sunday mornings were supposed to be calm, laid back . . . a peaceful time to lounge in bed a little longer, a morning to recharge spiritually, a time to linger unhurriedly over that fine cup of coffee . . . . Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe the rules don't apply here. Something is amiss. Did I forget to hit my weekly refresh button. ACK. Someone hates me????
So, I woke with a headache. No big deal. Decided to go grocery shopping at the crack of dawn since I was up and it had to be done. All was fine until while digging for the last of the 28 cans of cat food (Bru is now allowed to eat anything he can hold down and loves those small cans of Whiskas), my hand caught the stack next in line and all those tiny tins seems to hop from the shelve ala the lemmings into the sea. I thought that was a mess until I reached for an apple and the entire stack tumbled into applesauce on the floor. Yikes. And last but not least, the cat litter bag exploded as I pulled it out from under the cart. My headache is worse.
I finally get home to the safety of the cave, breathed a sigh of relief, and start to unpack the groceries. Again with the flying hand, I knock a shelf off the door and butter, biscuit mix and soy sauce go flying. That's it. I quit. I am safely back in bed hoping for a re deal . . . a second chance . . . an instant replay. We're having roast chicken, stuffing, gravy, mashed taters, corn and rolls for dinner. Any bets all does not go well, she asked as she pulled the covers up over her head and waited for sanity to return to her world?
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