Some nights, while you’re sleeping the fail fairies come and sprinkle fail dust in your hair, so no matter how hard you try, everything you do the next day will fail. Epically.
This morning I woke up (late) shouted at the children for not doing something I had told them I would do while they were in bed, stepped on the dog, forgot to feed the cat and drove half way up my street with the hand brake on, while cursing the car for being so crap and unreliable.
Then I got to work, email a Very Important Client apologising for the delay on their impotent issue, and ascribing said delay to the fact that I am so busty at the moment.
So I thought I would escape into Twitter for some light relief. In my first tweet of the day I managed to accidentally suggest to someone that dogs should crap in their ear (which they shouldn’t) because he owns a purple poodle (which he doesn’t). This, mind you, was directed at the most welcoming and friendly of all the tweeple I’ve met on Twitter. Apology attempt implied that it was all his fault for posting such a link (which it wasn’t and he posts lots of very interesting link, which I truly enjoy).
So, realising that interaction with the virtual world was an increasingly bad idea I decided to take myself out for some medicinal muffins.
Oh. My. God.
