Monday morning work was as you would expect but imagine my shock, surprise and delight when I realised that I had a half day due to hair cuttage. Probably the best news one can have on a Monday especially when it has slipped your mind. So excitement builds and the momentuos occasion arrives, I trill byeee as I skip, hop and jump out of the door into a hairdressers chair for 4 hours!!! And I think they cut it too short and instead of copper it looks... orangey. Very much an anti-climax.
Mind you the day can get better surely. I was not looking forward to the man's choice of date-night movie. Battle Los Angeles and have anti-climax already however, it shone with American masterfulness. Once again the Marines were the only ones who could save the day and only once the man who wasn't meant to be in charge took charge and overcame all his personal odds to ensure his men (and 1 Hispanic lady, covering all bases) followed him loyally and saved the day. I'm sure you know the drill. And yes there was a child, a dog and a pregnant wife who lost her bloke. This was a case of anti-climax being ... climaxed? I'm not sure of the exact terminology, suffice to say it was much better than I thought it was going to be.
And so and so, we move to Tuesday. Tired, battled scarred (from a cinema lasting memory point of view), hungry, stifled from a three hour meeting in which you are not expected to contribute one single iota and we are back to being anti-climactic about life, the universe and everything. But guess what kids? I'm going for a run tonight, if I win the fight with the lazy couch potato head voice, and apparently all kinds of endorphins will surge through my body causing happiness to ooze from every pore. A fitting end to these last few days.
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