Ugh

I've rather had it today.

The water trigger thing on the fridge? Not dispensing water. Found that out this morning, while telling Fox to get ready for school, one eye on the clock, the other on the already car (to make sure it didn't drive off without me) only to find that Mr. Not Listen To Me dispensed with tooth brushing in favor of dicking with the fridge.

Apparently, it's not enough that I've told you four times already to leave it alone and go do your teeth, put on your shoes, and quit fucking around with the blasted fridge already.

It's not even 8am.

Hop in the car, drive Fox to school, as today is The Big Project Day - yep, the three weeks we spent painstakingly finding the right military guys for the Revolutionary war, constructing the diorama, complete with musket smoke off the ends of the rifles. Back out of the drive, into the snow bank that already bears several of my fender marks, only to find that going down my hill? The great big one that separates The Grounds from The Commoners has not been plowed.

We went down sideways. This is not my idea of a good time.

Getting home, a challenge in and of itself, led to copious amounts of flash cards made for Latin and terminology; hopping in the shower? Pucker ATE them. Of my two options (hang her by her neck from the balcony banister, or, pay for by the hour doggie daycare) daycare seemed the most humane. Less explaining to do with why the damn dog wasn't coming home, like, ever.

We, both Fox and I, had dr.'s appointments: the first one? We were on time, despite the morons that cannot seem, after all these weeks of refresher courses, to drive in the snow; I even got a decent parking place. Days getting better and better, yes?

No.

Second appointment involved going back to the same building, seeing someone else, who evidently, (read: AGAIN) had a "scheduling error" - not, mind, that the receptionist, who not only checks your name, but the name of the doc your seeing, to check you in might have noticed that Hunter looks nothing like Courtney.

Foxy's pissy. I'm beyond annoyed.

Pucker's gone through the trash. Tipped over her water bowl. Stood at the trash can with the foot attachment to raise the lid stamping on it so the lid went up down up down up down - while Fox is doing his best Bon Jovi.

It sucks. Sorry, pal, but it does.

And maybe this is just me?

But when I'm annoyed, and trying not to lose my shit? Don't sit on top of me. Do not knead me with your sharp clawed paws, lick my face, or have to be touching me in some capacity. I talked Fox into a bubble bath. At least 30 minutes to sort laundry, get some bearings on the day.....fucking dog is hanging off my ankle akin to a tantruming child. Barking.

Not. A. Good. Plan.

Foxy enjoys a good scream fest in the tub; most of the time, I adore the fact that it most likely drives Lois up the wall and right back down.....today? When I tell you to SHUT UP, that doesn't mean wait until I leave the room to begin anew.

It's 8ish. I've had enough. The microwave clock keeps resetting itself to 0:00 for no reason, Stupid wants to go for a walk, only we get outside? She goes right back in. I've a headache Advil has yet to kick, and that's right folks, I went, got 'em out of the drawer:

My Bitch Pants are on.

One last pass at the fridge, pressing the lever to release the water, Fox got a earful so loud (and evidently totally unexpectedly) he nearly leapt out of pj's and into the middle of next week. Leave. The. Bloody. Fridge. ALONE.

See?

I told you, I'd rather had enough today.