having a good day?

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We all have them don't we? Really shitty days.

Days that feel wrong, that go wrong, that are really bloody wrong. Days where you wonder if you've slipped into an alternate universe in which the whole world, your whole body and your ridiculously clumsy fingers, are conspiring against you.

What do you do?

What can you do? Just go with it huh. I've spent way too many days railing against the unfairness of it all, picking over the details of every wrong, every missed opportunity, every slight. It's just so exhausting. I've spent whole weeks being angry at the flu, the rain, my boss, myself.

I saw this quote the other day and it was like 'bam'! Smacked me right in the face, in a nice, happy, comforting way (erm, even possible?), these words completely sum up how I feel about shitty days. Because it's the weird, the wrong, the strange days that make us human isn't it? We would have nothing to laugh about, nothing to talk about and be a pretty boring bunch if we only had great stuff and good days to talk about.

Sometimes, if I'm with someone who is a little too together, a little too shiny and positive and glowy and vanilla scented, I find myself willing them to say something off. Willing them to accidentally guff and style it out, willing them to have a giggle with me about the need to be in pyjamas pretty much all the time, willing them to have one drink too many and fall arse over tit. I like people who are brave enough to give a little bit of their real self away, nowadays it's a rare find, we are all too media savvy to even admit defeat to our own peoples.

I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.
— Augusten Burroughs

My bad day/good story begins with a harmless jar of Sunpat smooth peanut butter.

All the best stories do.

Yesterday I discovered that I am now, out of the blue, quite violently allergic to peanut butter. This is a mystery to me, I love the stuff. I ate it nearly every day that I was pregnant for it's super protein power (and unbelievable tastiness), then this happens. I have some on a cracker at lunchtime and an hour later I am in that particular kind of hell that requires you to choose which end to point at the toilet first.

I know it's the peanut butter because the day we went to Center Parcs I was also violently ill. All I had eaten that day was peanut butter and banana on toast but we discounted food as a reason for my sickness because I was a peanut butter lover, had never had a problem with the stuff and so we thought I just had a bug.

Not a bug. Oh no. My body has decided, after 42 years of buttery consumption, to disallow the peanuted one into it's inner realms. How? How is this possible? Why? Why would I all of a sudden be allergic to the stuff? Who even knows the answers to these questions?

So there I am, green at the gills and wondering how the hell I'm going to deal with Betsy all afternoon. I crawl into her bedroom and am relieved that she is in one of her "I don't want to wake up from my nap" moods, and so I grab a quilt and lie down on the floor next to her, my forehead resting on the cool wood (veneer) of her cot. Eventually she figures out that something isn't right.

Betsy, peering over the side of the cot "Mummy, what you doing?"

Me, frantically texting Darren telling him that I am dying "Mummy's not well".

Betsy, bit impatient "We get up now?"

Me, wondering how I can minimise movement and maximise childcare "Can we go downstairs and watch telly all afternoon Betsy?"

Betsy, not containing her joy very well "Yes Mummy".

She couldn't believe it, Team Umizoomi all afternoon.

I meanwhile did not get a response from Darren, he is busy launching video games and doing real world stuff so I let him off, mournfully lying on the sofa, trying to think of anything but the smell of peanuts.

Then a miracle happens, an actual, sent from the heavens miraculous miracle. I swear I heard the frigging angels singing.

The front door opens.

He is home. I am saved. He had a migraine so came home early, hadn't even seen my pathetic texts, couldn't believe he was the hero of the hour, was well pleased with himself. Until he realised he would have to take some seriously strong pain pills in order to deal with the now eager for attention and smelling advantage Betsy.

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