I am grouchy. Here is why:
I am moving. Moving requires packing. Packing sucks. Packing while trying to entertain an infant is nearly impossible.
Also, I smacked my head. Hard. If you were standing next to me as my head met the dresser drawer, you would have surely winced and said something like “ahhhh.”. I now have a small egg on my head and I feel a zit brewing on top of it. Sexy.
It is hot. I am sweaty.
There is no food in the house except for margarine, cheese, spaghetti sauce, and some ridiculous antifreeze-hued alcoholic beverage that has been sitting in the crisper since the Catherine left it there many moons ago.
I strolled the sweaty little man over several sweaty blocks to buy a sofa. Sofa man says it’ll take at least two weeks for delivery. “But what’s this ‘fast delivery’ sign?,” I ask. He shrugs. Ahhh!
Did I mention I hate moving?
My head hurts.
At least this garden is waiting for me. And that naked statue with the flowers on his head.