Like PMS, only better

The restaurant opened full time yesterday. No more part-time, dreary winter schedule. Full on, seven-days-a-week madness. It's what we servers here in the mountains wait for. The Money Season. I was bartender last night, which means no uniform! I can wear whatever I want! Yay! I'll even wear a dress! Oh, the excitement.

An hour later...

Nothing fit. If it did, it was the wrong color. Or, it just didn't hang right. Or, the shoes looked too slutty. Or...or...or...

I decided yesterday, in a hormone-induced fit of insanity, that my hair just needed to be cut. Thank God my hairdresser is pregnant, too, and understood when she called me back this morning that I had changed my mind. And thank you to the person who told me my hair looked great. You, random person, soothed the evil HormoneBeast who told me otherwise.

When Joe and I came home from work, he walked into the bedroom to kick off his shoes. All he could do was laugh and shake his head. He did not KNOW that a bomb had exploded earlier, emptying the contents of my closet onto the floor, bed, and dresser. He was caught unaware.

I wasn't there when the bomb detonated. It must have been scary. I am pleased to report that no one was hurt.