92/365: Out of bed, the wrong side

It's been one of Those Days. You know, when you feel irrationally irritable and grumpy. It started when I woke later than normal, which started to put me under the pressure of a self-induced timeline: have I got time to go to the gym, Marks & Spencer's and Sainsbury's and back in time for the wretched test drive J has organised for 4pm? Plus I had some urgent mafia business to attend to after finding that while I was sleeping, someone had attacked me in Mafia Wars and I'd lost.

As I drove to M&S, I rang my mum and ended up getting GBH of the ear,  so I was on a low simmer when I went up to the Exchanges & Refunds. I recently bought J a trendy looking shirt but he instantly rejected it and somehow I lost the receipt, which is unusual for me. Anway, their new policy in M&S is to treat you like a criminal if you've lost your receipt and ask for a credit note. The woman glared and said I would only now get £12 (the shirt was £29 three weeks ago) and asked for my name and post code, writing them on some list as if it would be used for future evidence.

This took the shine off my M&S session and I left having purchased only an Oakham chicken.

I then went to Sainsbury's, cursing the way they have redesigned the now smaller car park at Low Hall, so that it really has become every man for himself. Why do people have to have these ridiculous people carriers and Range Rovers in London suburbs?

Inside, every pushchair and every trolley seemed to be hurtling themselves towards me.

There were no raspberries left.

As I drove home, irrationally furious, I was cursing J for his test drive, although actually it's for the car that I want. He wants another car which I'm convinced I wouldn't want to be seen dead in (no, not a hearse.)

He had made his own lunch, hooray for that, but as usual had not emptied the dishwasher. This I did, loudly and silently, if that isn't mixing my metaphors.

Now I remembered what my mum used to wail when I was a kid, "I haven't sat down for the day", and we would accuse her of being a martyr because she didn't ask for any help ("I shouldn't have to!") and would persist in doing unnecessary things like washing the skirting boards.

After putting away the shopping, tight-lipped, and sat down to have my lunch, J looked over and gave me a smile  (having not previously engaged in conversation as he could See The Signs). "Now you can have a nice sit down," he said. "But don't forget we're going out for that test drive".

As recompense for the test drive, I'll see if I can encourage him into Waitrose which is on the way, after all, to get some raspberries and the creme fraiche I forgot to get.