-I forgot to pack my frozen entrée for lunch and arrived at work lunch-less.
-I discovered that the blueberries that I left in the community refrigerator had gone moldy, thus ruining my plan to have them in my breakfast oatmeal.
-My magical Sephora VIB Rouge card somehow became unregistered through the Sephora site and the clerk at the store informed me that my hard-earned loyalty points would not be transferred to a new card unless I jumped through five million hoops.
-The resulting conversation with Sephora customer service ate up almost the entirety of the lunch hour that I was forced to take because I had to run to the store to pick up a salad, because, in case you have forgotten; I was lunch-less.
-When I finally managed to get to the grocery store after resolving the Sephora crisis (I know, First World Problems, right?!), I discovered that the salad bar was out of order, so no freshly tossed salad for this girl.
-The mixed fruit and nuts that I was forced to purchase as a replacement cost $14. For melon balls and a tiny bag of pistachios (I picked a bad day to start eating healthy again, me thinks).
-On my way back to the office, Hugh called to tell me that the auditor from the company we finance our equipment through had just arrived at the store for a surprise audit.
-I had to sit through a long meeting, followed by a conference call, all while watching my phone vibrate off the table with panicked calls from Hugh, who has never had to deal with the auditor.
-The auditor identified four items that we cannot locate plus five more that I know for a fact I paid for when we sold them earlier this year, so I get to deal with that nonsense later today.
-The client I went to bat for with the Department of Human Services popped hot for methamphetamine on a routine drug screen, despite assuring me that she hasn’t used, you know, like EVER. I look super professional at this point.
-My baby girl doesn’t live with me anymore (Nothing new, just thought that I would throw that out there).
-Fruit and nuts aren’t really enough to keep a tummy from rumbling during an important conference call.
Now, I realize that none of these things, when considered in isolation, constitute a need to run the alarm flag up the pole, but, when taken together, run that fucker UP.
I need a drink.