Urgh, still living in the Land of Donna Pixies.
It’s so nice here.
And they don’t even mind so much about my dodgy pelvic floor and all the coughing I’m doing.
My chest hurts. My head hurts.
And Monkey Boy has decided to join me today. Even though its the last day of school and they play games. He preferred to stay home. He’s clearly not well.
Grumpy felt that he would be of use and, given that we were down to quite literally no food in the house, decided to go shopping.
So off he toddled, and came back very proud. He had spent half the money that I usually do.
I think he even dropped in a “So there!” – but at that point things really weren’t making sense to me.
I emerged from Doona Pixie Land at some stage in the afternoon, where the penny dropped about the shopping. Spending half of the usual while in theory sounds very, very impressive, in reality it can’t be good.
“Here’s the receipt” boasts a puffed up Grumpy Pants.
“Why did you buy 14 tins of tuna?”
“They were on special” he declares, chest puffing out even further.
“Yes, the flavoured one’s always are. Because no-one ever buys them. Because they taste like crap. No one in this house eats them either. Because they taste like crap.”
The more I perused the list, the more I encountered the things that no-one in the family will eat.
Ah, well, looks like we’ll be starving for a another week or so. Till I can gather the strength to leave the house. Or the bed.
Not that I care. I can’t eat anyway.
Everything tastes like crap.
And still haven’t had a cup of coffee or glass of wine.
No wonder I feel rotten.