Status: Retouched and defuzzed.
Mood: Better than this morning!
Calories consumed: Middling, but they were prepared by No.1 and Only Son, so that's a win)
Blood spilled: None (miraculously)
After ratty mood and general discontent with the world, and fellow passengers on Athens public transport this morning, things have improved. But not before arriving home after my return trip, soaked in sweat, with someone else's chocolate smeared on white t-shirt (if I'm gonna get choccy stains, I at least want to be the one who put them there!) and feet screaming in protest at yet another crowded journey breathing other people's souvlaki fumes and having toes trodden on. Oh the joys.
Ignore aches and pains and pull on sweaty sweat pants and top, in order to make them even sweatier with sesh at the gym (yes! am Superwoman, despite wobbling buttocks and protesting knee). Back home, sit down to plateful of spaghetti in tomato and basil sauce from the fair hand of Kidlet. Am seriously impressed that pasta is cooked and sauce tasty.
Hit the bathroom to rinse every trace of the gym off me, but end up giving myself the works.
Success - roots touched-up without giving cat an interesting new look, despite his insistence to stick his nose in every I do. (Last time I dyed my hair, Stoopid Cat got a punkish splodge of orange on the top of his oh-so-nosy head after leaping into shower as I rinsed off)
Even more success - manage to shave legs without adding pint of own blood to the gory red splashes in the bathtub after my home colouring effort.
Clean up every last splash of purply-red blobs scattered around bathroom, except for a spot on the mat. Artfully rearrange mat and pray that Ovver Arf won't notice.
Am domestic goddess, supremely groomed and expert trainer of male offspring.
Not a bad note on which to head for bed. Night all!
Mood: Better than this morning!
Calories consumed: Middling, but they were prepared by No.1 and Only Son, so that's a win)
Blood spilled: None (miraculously)
After ratty mood and general discontent with the world, and fellow passengers on Athens public transport this morning, things have improved. But not before arriving home after my return trip, soaked in sweat, with someone else's chocolate smeared on white t-shirt (if I'm gonna get choccy stains, I at least want to be the one who put them there!) and feet screaming in protest at yet another crowded journey breathing other people's souvlaki fumes and having toes trodden on. Oh the joys.
Ignore aches and pains and pull on sweaty sweat pants and top, in order to make them even sweatier with sesh at the gym (yes! am Superwoman, despite wobbling buttocks and protesting knee). Back home, sit down to plateful of spaghetti in tomato and basil sauce from the fair hand of Kidlet. Am seriously impressed that pasta is cooked and sauce tasty.
Hit the bathroom to rinse every trace of the gym off me, but end up giving myself the works.
Success - roots touched-up without giving cat an interesting new look, despite his insistence to stick his nose in every I do. (Last time I dyed my hair, Stoopid Cat got a punkish splodge of orange on the top of his oh-so-nosy head after leaping into shower as I rinsed off)
Even more success - manage to shave legs without adding pint of own blood to the gory red splashes in the bathtub after my home colouring effort.
Clean up every last splash of purply-red blobs scattered around bathroom, except for a spot on the mat. Artfully rearrange mat and pray that Ovver Arf won't notice.
Am domestic goddess, supremely groomed and expert trainer of male offspring.
Not a bad note on which to head for bed. Night all!
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