There are good days, and there are rough days. Yesterday, I had a rough day.
It started out with me finding two earwigs in the bathroom. Over the past three days, I've been the one to find all of the earwigs that are apparently crawling around in our house: two in my craft room on Sunday, one on the bathroom counter on Monday, and two more in the bathroom yesterday. Why I'm the one finding these disgusting little creatures, I don't know. They are in my top three insects that I loathe, the first and second being spiders and house centipedes (the latter I never knew existed until we moved to our current location--*shudder*--if you don't know what they look like, feel free to look them up). My husband has had streaks of finding spiders in the past, and I guess this is my streak right now. I've always hated them--we had a LOT of them when I was growing up in mid-Michigan, and they freaked me out back then. They tend to live in wet areas, and when they can't find water outside, they migrate to wherever water might be, and a bathroom is certainly the wettest place in the house. Sigh.
Then, I received an e-mail from the person who purchased a notepad in my Etsy shop that morning saying that she changed her mind and wanted to cancel the order. The first order I've had all month. The ONLY order I've had all month. I grudgingly granted her request, but not without some irritation.
I had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon. Before I left work, a trustee came in to do water samples in the bathrooms. He told me that I could still use the toilet, and to make sure that I left the water running in the sink. Since my doctor's office is about 40 minutes away from work, I wanted to use the facilities before I left. I flushed the toilet and watched the water swirl, but not go down. Bummer. I waited a few minutes and tried again. Got the same result. Super-bummer. I had to tell the trustee, with embarrassment, that the toilet hadn't flushed and to not look in the toilet.
When I finally got home, my husband pointed out to me more bird poop on the car. Now, let me explain: no matter where I park at work, or at the store, or anywhere, I always get pooped on. It's like I have a target on the top of my car that only birds can see. And I'm not talking about little spots, I'm talking about the huge, seagull-sized bombs that eat away at the paint job on the vehicle, and I'm also talking about multiple bombing sites on the car. Why my car gets hit like this, I just don't know. But it just seemed par for the course yesterday, and when my husband said I had bird poop on the car, I felt it a fitting way to describe my day: a bird pooped on my day.
|From Reddit: Gary Larson cartoon--"The Far Side"|