It started when my alarm went off at 5:40 .. and I hit snooze, and the stupid thing never went off again. (Awesome).
I discovered we were out of toilet paper after the fact. (Fail!)
I poured a bowl of cereal only to discover we were out of milk. (Double fail!)
Drew announced that he didn't have time to pack a lunch because he had to leave in 10 minutes.
If I didn't know full well that we only had $70 in the bank account until Friday, I wouldn't get so flustered.
I complained that it really wasn't my responsibility as his wife to pack him a lunch, but it seems that when I do -- it's the only time he brings one. (I mean, come on now. He'll be 28 years old next month. If I can usually get my butt out of bed to walk the dog, shower, get myself ready for work, make breakfast and pack a lunch? He has zero excuse.)
But I made it anyway.
He forgets the sandwich on the kitchen table in his haste to get out the door.
*facepalm* Triple fail.
I took a deep breath, snagged the strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and yogurt out of the fridge. I threw them in the blender. Used the last of the ice cubes. I made myself a damn smoothie. And I really didn't feel guilty about the big dollop of whipped cream I threw on top for good measure.
This is just one of those mornings that started off heinously awful.
And if it doesn't start getting any better, there's a good chance I'll be throwing a bottle of wine in my giant purse before I head off to the Sex & The City Marathon at the Saco Cinemagic this evening. I think some Carrie Bradshaw is the exact cure for my funk.