A Day in the Life

Today was one of those days when I feel like I didn’t do anything right. I got p.o.’d and threw some stuff around in the kitchen (I swore to myself thirty years ago that I would never do that.) I got irritated with my best little employee (and I hope she doesn’t just tell me to take the job and shove it.) I didn’t make any headway with my Valentine promotion plans, and time is ticking away quickly on that one.

Actually, I think today was just a continuation of yesterday. Which might have been an extension of the day before. In fact, I’m trying to think of just when my last good day was…

Let’s start with Saturday. First of all, it was a crappy anniversary of a crappy day. My dad passed away on February 2nd, 1999. So it’s always a kind of off sort of day for me.

And then, it took a notion to snow all day. Ugh! I looked outside at the snow and I thought, oh, THERE goes my week (sales-wise.) So of course I decided it wasn’t going to be busy. And then it was. Which was good. I guess. But annoying, when one has made up one’s mind that it is not going to be busy and has planned accordingly.

In addition, I’ve been fighting off a cold with mass quantities of zinc and Vitamin C; but so far, the cold is winning. You know how they say that if you take all this stuff, the cold is supposed to be less severe and of shorter duration? Well, that looks like it’s probably going to be true, but it only makes it marginally less annoying. I’m not sure it’s an advantage to be just sick enough to be really crabby, but not sick enough to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over your head. Let’s just say it’s not making me any friends this week…

I guess yesterday was the capper. Sunday…supposed to be our day off. The plan is for husband to sleep in and enjoy the game later on, and for me to go to the café and get some work done while husband is Superbowling. At a quarter to eight (am) the phone rings. It is the good and faithful "D" at the café. Mila the café cat has been attacked by three unleashed dogs. Saved by "D", who has been seriously punctured for her trouble. Can we rush to the café and whisk the cat to the vet?

So we jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, drive hell bent for leather to the restaurant. Poor café cat is holed up in the ladies’ room. Seriously sad kitty. Full of dog spit, probably in shock, and with one back leg sticking out at an odd angle. No holes or tears that I could see, but obviously not okay. But cat has a tag with an owner’s number on it. I make the executive decision to call the owner and let them foot the vet bill. Owner shows up, takes cat away in a laundry basket.

I slather peroxide all over "D’s" injured hand and try to help her wrap it up. Day off has just begun, and is looking pretty funky. Husband and I adjourn to a table and figure we might as well have the cooks make us some breakfast. Almost seems like things could slide back to normal. But the fun has just begun…

(I will finish this later. Gotta go to bed sometime…)