The Good Hair Day

Yesterday went like this:

I woke early.

I attempted to ice the cake I had made the night before, only to remember why I, of late, have resisted making that particular frosting. It’s shit, and did not stick to the cake.

So I made a white chocolate ganache. Only blue. That bit was deliberate. My fingers also went blue. That was not dileberate, but inevitable. Some fucker (I know exactly which ones) had eaten my remaining half packet of white chocolate bits used specifically for the purpose of cooking, and from which the aforementioned fuckers had been repeatedly requested, advised, yelled at, and threatened with things worse than dying (i.e. having electronic devices, other than the washing machine, removed until I had forgiven them) if they touched them again.

Whilst the ganache was supposed to be setting, I attempted to make my coffee. Usually, this is an easy task, as I set the timer on the machine for the night before, and there’s a pot waiting for me when I get up and go downstairs.

As it was this morning.

Sadly, I was unable to locate the milk. Possibly because I was searching the cutlery drawer for it.

Inevitably, the ganache I made screwed up and required more white chocolate. Which, of course, was not available. Refer to previous paragraph.

The pants I wanted to wear were not just in the wash, but in the washing machine. Wet.

I left for work, leaving the cake decorating (a.k.a. cake rescue duties) with Grumpy Pants.

I got in, unscathed and with no real drama.

My work email refused to open, which does not bode well for my getting stuff done.

The software I needed to get my work done also refused to comply.

I was close to crying, but I restarted everything, but my actual day.

Grumpy dropped the cake into work, but was unable to do much more with it, as the ganache had not set and he was unable to work his usual magic.

Still, I attempted to detract from the bad icing job with an even worse decorating of the cake.

A work lunch that was under the guise of farewelling a colleague was in order, and, aside from the terrible presentation, she loved the cake and the sentiment of the message. Which was nice. She was even kind enough not to comment on the presentation … or knows me well enough to know that’s just what you get with me.

You're dead to us

Either way, her smile was enough to make me smile.

My afternoon went much the way of my morning, so it was nice to get home, and into a hot shower.

Until I remembered it is basketball training night.

I took a breath and got myself organised to ferry Godzilla to this weekly ritual. This week, due to various small factors, I participated in the session.

It was concerning, given the day I’d had, and anxious thoughts of twisted ankles, torn ligaments, or broken fingers, wrists, or arms (mine) writhed around my mind. Whist this would seem disasterous to the Law of Attraction types, it seems to have the opposite effect on me. If I think it, it won’t happen. Although something that hasn’t crossed my mind usually does.


In this case, I had fun, worked up a sweat, had a laugh, and was reminded, as I am every week, only more so this week, of my intense love for basketball.

Hot, tired, and sweaty, I was a bit buggered when I got home, so chillaxed a bit and went to bed early.

Only to awake with good hair.

Why is it that when I shower, dry my hair and do all the right a hair things, and it looks like I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards, several times, but partake in half a training session with the under 16 boys and my hair looks reasonable?

I’d even go so far as to say presentable.

Still, I’m not complaining. I’ll take it.

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