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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.
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