It may be funny to read but this is my life, people. My life!

It's been a wee bit of a crap day. It started off with a terrible night's sleep. I had one of those horrid tossing and turning nights, with sleep refusing to come, and with it did it was accompanied by technicolour dreams of giant lice parading like dancing girls around my daughter's scalp. Eeeeew.

Then Grumbles crept into our room (what? Morning already? Noooooo! I'm too tired!) to announce that she was full of the cold. The poor old tiger, it seemed, had bugs galore - on her head and in her head. So we decided that no school was to be had, but she did have to trot along with me to my waxing appointment. Whilst there she turned over the chair she was standing on, causing me to try to open my eyes while my eyelash tint was being done. Due to the subsequent leakage of eyelash tint mixed with tears, I now have dyed eyelashes and dyed panda eyes. It's a frickin great look. When the Galumph came home I tried to explain what happened, and he said "I'm sure it will look better when you wash your eye make-up off", to which I spat "I"m not wearing any bloody make up!" The awkward silence hung in the kitchen like divorce papers slying inserted into an in tray.

After the dye-my-lashes-dye-my-face incident Grumbles and I came home. Chores awaited, but instead of going smoothly the pegs attacked me as I tried to hang her sheets (de-lousing, of course, means extra housework), resulting in a splinter in my finger. Hoorah. Ever tried to remove a splinter from your good hand using your wrong one? It's no walk in the park, Johnny boy.

I did manage to get two more dresses sewn whilst Grumbles played games on sesamest.org, which was good. With both of us in more cheerful moods we decided to do the conditioner trick, only this time using the fancy steel toothed comb I got from the chemist this morning.

Tell you what, if you ever want to make your child scream in pain and make them bald at the same time, use one of these combs. I don't blame poor old Grumbles for bellowing - each drag of the comb through her hair pulled out as much hair as bugs. And the damn procedure took over an hour. My beautiful girl didn't even bother crying at the end - she just sort of whimpered continually through her clogged up nose while I tried to tell her that it was almost over, and if we don't do this properly now then we'll never get the bugs out. I think it was cold comfort for both of us, though. I felt like having a bellow myself afterwards, especially when the hair dryer died in my hands.

After all of that I just wanted to collapse on the couch with a bucket of gin and tonic, but noooooooo - dinner must be cooked. Beetroot risotto was on the menu, so Grumbles was parked in front of Elmo and co once more whilst I thumped around the kitchen. I discovered too late that it was not a night to be trying to new recipes - I managed to include a piece of my thumb in the grated beetroot, and as I reflexively jerked the grater away a sliver of beetroot flew through the air and landed in my eye. I ignored the eye in favour of my bleeding thumb, but after about 10 minutes the eye was really beginning to weep. Crossing fingers and hoping the rice wouldn't stick to the pan whilst I examined myself (because I really needed that to happen on top of everything else) I raced the mirror to find a piece of beetroot floating around my eyeball.

This kind of crap can only happen to me. The fact that it regularly does makes it none the easier to deal with. However me and my splinter finger and grated thumb and panda eyes and beetroot eyeball are now enjoying a big fat glass of red and hoping that nothing else goes wrong on this accursed day.

Signing off,
One Fed Up Jorth