I get up and get myself ready for work. I really need to do some washing, and am down to my last work-appropriate sweater. I appraise myself in the mirror and even though I feel like I'm having a bad hair day, a fat day and a I-can't-keep-my-eyes-open day all rolled in to one, I pass the test. Barely.
I walk into the kitchen and fluff around for a minute or two. In that short period of time, I knock my head on a cupboard door, bump my butt on the kitchen bench, and accidentally kick the cats food bowl, spilling croquettes all over the floor. My mood does not improve.
I walk back to the bathroom. I check myself in the mirror again, and lo and behold, there are not one, not two, but THREE stains on my jumper.
How do I do this?! I hadn't eaten anything yet, I hadn't really even done anything, yet I still managed to get three stains on myself already.
I rip off my sweater, and storm into the bedroom. Tops of all different shapes and colours start piling up on the bed.
Sylvain comes into the bedroom and watches the proceedings in silence. Symphony is on his lap, staring at me with wide eyes.
I finally decide on a blue top, put it on, and look at myself in the mirror.
"You look so nice in blue", Sylvain says helpfully.
I snarl, rip off the top and begin pawing through the drawers again.
I finally decide on a red top, put it on, and look at myself in the mirror.
"Oh, but you do look nice in red," he begins again.
I shoot him a look, and he closes his mouth.
I smooth down the top, decide that it'll have to do because I haven't got anything else, and storm into the kitchen.
Sylvain and Symphony both follow me, quietly.
"You do look nice," he says, attempting to appease my anger.
I clear my throat, and we both proceed to eat breakfast in silence. Symphony jumps on my lap and stares at me. I accidentally knock my brioche off the bench, drop my spoon, spill the coffee and rip a hole in my socks. Impressive.
Five minutes later, I put on my shoes and my coat, then I look outside. It's raining.
"Bloody rain," I grumble.
"It's not raining much, it's just a bit grey outside," Sylvain tries to make me feel better.
"What world are you living in?" I snap. Sylvain looks hurt, and I decide that I should probably make amends. "Can I come and live in your world? Where there is no rain?"
Sylvain looks at me thoughtfully, "I don't think so - crankies aren't allowed to live in my world."
I narrow my eyes and poke out my tongue.
"I love you..." he pauses, and hands me his umbrella, "... sweetie."
I don't have such cases of the crankies very often, but when I do, they're pretty bad. I'm just glad that Sylvain can still call me sweetie at the end of it.
I think some shopping therapy after work might help this mood. heh.