It must be puppy love!

Yesterday was a strange old day. I do not generally subscribe to teary fits or “woe is me” tantrums but for some bizarre reason only known to the Creatrix I was struck with a fit of being a girly-grrl.

Ech. I felt put upon. A fragile thing.

During a conversation with one of my colleagues yesterday morning I burst out into tears – blubbering about Gene Kelley in Singing in the Rain we watched a bit of the night before and how not only was it one of my favourites but one of my mom’s too. And how, when I got into work no one in my team bothered acknowledging my presence (not an unusual occurrence as they are all general aholes anyway and have to emerge from their cave of self-love to notice anyone anyway) and how low that made me felt. She blinked at me and then, without a word, gave me a hug and a few minutes later brought around a gorgeous scrummy donut.

Then, during another conversation with another colleague I once again broke down, embarrassingly, trying to explain to her how rough I felt. The upend of this conversation is a whole swathe of lovely pictures and emailed poems to make me feel better. Which it didn’t as they were all poems about soppiness but the thought counted and I felt much better.

I got forced into a lunch with all the girls and they vied to tell me all about their favourite movies to have a good cry to. We had a good laugh, the food was predictably shite, but the company was good and all in all they were there being lovely and sweet.

By the end of the day, however, my nerves were raw and all I wanted, more than anything else in the world, was to go home and be safe and loved. But first there was a shopping expedition at Tesco. But Mr. G, being the hero he is, did most of the shopping and all I had to do is stand around blankly and hand him plastic packets whilst he packed groceries.

I got home, made gorgeous beautiful risotto (comfort food) and hugged poor Sparrow constantly whilst sitting on the couch. Sparrow, who never stints when love is being dealt out, licked back enthusiastically so the evening ended well with me and my hair dreadlocked by doggy spittle, my face throroughly cleansed with doggy drool, and my cares washed away by doggy love and the best tea made by the husband.

My heroes.