Hot Andrew has been having a bad week and is tired and emotional, not the Hollywood 'tired and emotional' which means pissed to the gills and in need of urgent rehab.
My day, sung to the tune of that annoying women's magazine full of crap was tiring and emotional and I could have done with being pissed to the gills.
I walk to the pharmacy, 2kms, to put in Ma's morphine script, pay bills, send parcels, pick up medication. Did I mention that it was a cold wind this morning so that I wrap a scarf around me and the bags? I just miss two buses going to Southland in opposite directions so I wait and it rained on me. In the middle of summer, I get rained on.
More walking around Southland, more shopping, more carrying bags. More, much more swearing at stupid trolley. Half price homeyped shoes aren't in my size but never mind David Jones has one Estee Lauder Christmas special box left and my credit card and I grab it.
By the time I stagger to the taxi rank, it's hot and sunny and not a cloud in sight. Arrive at Ma's and a good samaritan has brought in the garbage bins but because of BrickOutHouse moving a rust bucket ute into the carport, they're right in the drive and I have to get the groceries around them. I show my adultness by throwing the recycle bin flat on the ground behind the rust bucket.
Various annoyances by all members of my family have me shouting, throwing and blood pressuring and in tears by the time I came home. I can't say anything because once the words are out, they can never be taken back and I can kill with words.
I didn't get any chocolate.
There's birdshit on my newly washed doona.
Don't be nice to me, I'm in the kill zone.