"Let's Just Forget About All This Chocolate Business"

These were the words uttered to me this morning by Egg as I walked into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and found Dumpie with full chipmunk cheeks, munching what looked like the last bits of ill-gotten chocolate. Egg explained that he and Dumps had polished off my supply of mini Kit-Kat's I keep hidden in the top shelf of the fridge for those moments when I need a late afternoon pick-me-up and a cup of tea just won't do. Sure enough I checked...and they were gone (sigh).

This morning started off poorly as I got into a slightly but not entirely irrational rage with a local delivery company when they failed to ring our doorbell properly or even knock and simply left a 'we missed you' card through our door slot. We were supposed to take delivery of our new tv which I was very much looking forward to setting up today and even paid extra for, for next day delivery. They were having none of it. Apparently 'Dave' the driver had deposited our telly back at the depot and raced off to meet his friends for a big weekend piss-up down his local pub (well that second part I made up but his name is Dave and I hate him and think he's an idiot who deserves to be fired. I told this to his boss when I called up to complain, but instead of apologizing on his behalf he went on to defend Dave and say, "Well Madame, Dave is one of our best drivers and ALWAYS rings doorbells"). URGHHHHH...

Currently I am nursing my ever-present toothache, dressed up like an 80's reject from 'Flashdance' and contemplating waking up our sick 2 year old in order to get out of the house and do some local errands. Personally, I just want a double-strength skinny wet latte with chocolate sprinkles...that will do me. I am going to have to re-think this whole recent 'wine therapy' thing in regards to my teeth as I am likely to turn into an accidental alcoholic long before I even get my longed-for medical referral. Nevertheless, our wine rack bulges with newly-purchased wine (none of which I imagine has a hope in hell of making it to Christmas) and I wonder whether a late mediterranean luncheon might be out of the question. Somehow with some cheese, olives and a bit of this and a bit of that, wine can be elevated from a mere 'painkiller' into an civilized accompaniment. Or so I am trying to persuade myself.

At any rate duty calls. The sun is already beginning it's habitual descent, a thousand surfaces cry out to be rescued from the leftover souvenirs of grubby little fingers and my hair looks like the before picture on a head n' shoulders ad - all lank and in dire need of some TLC. My teenage self would be disgusted if she could see me now, and would insist I grab my handbag and hightail it out the door to the nearest salon and 'get myself sorted.' I miss my teenage self (sigh)...