Mr. G and the Foxtrot

I swear to peaches, it's 150 feckin' degrees up in this office and I'm already starting to feel a little crotchety.

It's not even 8:30 yet.

I hope I don't see anyone I want to impress today, the lack of spackle and paint makes me look half dead.

And the hair. We won't even go there.

I didn't have time to do any serious coiffing nor applying of war paint before I left the house this morning. Mr. G woke me up around 3 a.m., nudging me rudely as he whispered his sweet nothings:

Mr. G: "Ohhhh zeee ma'dam, she has forgotten moi. Wake up my leetle cabbage and we will do zee tango and zee fox trot like zee old times!!"

Me: "Dude.. seriously? I'm not in the mood. Bossman is off this week. I have to rest. I don't have time for your nonsense. Settle your little ass down and go back to sleep."

Mr. G: "I weel not be ignored mon chere'! Wake up! We weel tip toe through zee tulips and tap dance like zee Sammy Davis Jr.!"

I ended up sleeping on the couch, which I may not have mentioned, is broken. It's closer to the bathroom... just in case. I woke up again around 5 a.m. to the kitty munching down on my hair.

It's going to be a long day. I'm going to try to make the best of it.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!