Yes, well.. I had a particularly baaaaaad day today. For starters,(isn't that always the way) my dog woke me up at 3 am barking like a mad man...if mad men barked. Anyhoo that was of the non-fun variety. So, I asked him what the hell he wanted. And get this, he just kept barking instead of answering. (He normally talks back). That little fiasco continued for awhile. I so do not want to go through that again...EVER. In the end it turned out that Jack Lord wanted to get together for coffee.

Okay, so I go back to sleep. And have a wicked awesome nightmare about Ding-dongs, talking Barbies and a yak. But we won't go into detail, as my memory on all is fuzzy.

Get up around, noonish. Where Pedro, my servant, was slacking off. He's all, "I was shot last week in the leg, it still hurts, waah waah." Of course, I told him that if he didn't get his act together, he was going to lose his leg and his job. That quickly changed his attitude. Things became slightly better. For now.

So, to continue with my day. Little bad things happened all day long. My curlers didn't curl. The bath water that Pedro drew for me was a couple degrees to hot. My legs cramped during swimming. And Cuddles (my dog) kept ignoring me.

And now, we get to the baaaad part. We're at tennis lessons. Things are going okay. My back hand is improving. Cut to about an hour later, I'm going after this particularly difficult move,when my f.ucking arm falls off. I'm screaming, blood is everywhere and my arm gets up and starts "walking" to the bench. And Franklin (the instructor) wants me to keep practicing. I'm all "My arm...just fell off...and YOU want me to swing at a *ball*??" And then he starts going on about this great one-armed tennis player, Ugolaus Something-Or-Other. I stand there and glare at him for several seconds. Shooting daggers. (Literally. He did manage to dodge them all) Stomping off, I grab my arm, get in the car and drive to the nearest ER. Blah blah. They sew it back on. And we will never go back to that hospital again. It's on backward, and they used brightly coloured yarn for thread.

I get home, totally pissed off, only to find out that Pedro has quit. Seems he got a better offer elsewhere.

I don't know what to do. I can't cook. Eat. Bath. Get dressed. Without him. Who's going to sing lullabies to me? Who's going to make those cute puff pastries that I like so much? And tell me that my ass doesn't look fat in those jeans? I can't survive without him. I just can't.

Pretty great story, huh? (yes, that was sarcasm you heard)... Something about this whole thing is off.

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