Sam and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Sometimes our lives feel like a parody of someone else's, don't they? If not a parody, at least a parallel track to a work of fiction. My disposition did not improve much as the day went on yesterday, so today, I decided to bring out my inner preschool teacher and DS's favorite book as a child, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst, and mock myself a bit, with the help of some of my blogging friends. Read along with me and you may be surprised to find yourself part of my story.

Sam woke to an upset in her tummy, an ache in her head, and another pound on the scale. "I want to move to London!" she growled. This is going to be a bad day, she thought in her head. She logged onto her blog site and read about all the exciting things her blogging friends were doing with their wonderful days. Vix at Vintage Vixen was dressed in a beautiful scarf turned maxi skirt, crafted by herself. Fostering three new kittens, but still time to look gorgeous in black and white and a hair done up in a French braid, Sue at You Can Call Me Sue, scored great finds at the charity shops. Curtice at Second hand Years rocked a vintage maxi dress in colors that can only make a person smile.Then there's Natalia at In the Writers Closet, who always looks put together. Sam on the other hand had no clean underwear left in her drawer, except the pair of granny panties with the over stretched elastic. She had to wear those and found herself shifting them back into place all day. This would never happen in England or New Zealand. 

Sam's daughter had forgotten a few pieces of her homework causing them to get out the door late. Stopping for gas and coffee, still running late, the lady ahead of Sam took the last raspberry danish, and the Hazelnut Dream  coffee pot was on empty forcing Sam to settle for plain old Morning Blend. In her true fashion, Sluggy at Don't Read This, It's Boring,was anything but again as she scored big time savings at Rite Aid, and navigated her college boys bathroom. McVal at Sew Not My Day had an early morning coffee pot adventure while Sam sipped boring coffee from a boring gas station coffee cup. "I bet they have lots of Danish and Hazelnut coffee in London,"  Sam muttered. 

Lunch was a boring can of tomato soup, eaten practically cold because of an interruption before Sam could eat. Thrift Deluxe at Nine to Five had a creative meal, full of yummy vegetables and other goodies. Frugal in Derbyshire found a great deal on meat. Imagine, a dinner with a deliciously cooked brisket. Dinner at home for Sam was pasta, once again, with jarred Alfredo sauce, not a delicious brisket.

The IRS gets a huge chunk  of Sam's money. The printer ran out of toner. A website document had errors and had to be pulled down, but discovered only after the big bosses staff sited incorrect facts to him. Sam got stuck at a train crossing for 10 minutes arriving in town after the dry cleaner closed. Once home, to try and unwind, Sam surfed Facebook and and her blogs. She read  posts of all sorts of wonderful reflections and posts from folks who are giving themselves some breathing time like Lovely Grey and Aril from Gnat Bottomed Towers. Even Sonya Ann at A Mom, Money, and More was taking a respite, from blogging for a few days and probably pulling all kinds of shenanigans. Sam finds herself muddled, without direction in life today, and would like to do nothing more than pack a bag and run away across the ocean to see Big Ben and wander for hours in the National Gallery. 

Later that night, vegged out in front of Netflix, Sam's dearly loved teenager popped next to her with a brownie. "You look like you had a bad day," she said, giving her mom the brownie. She was so sweet and reminded Sam of her friend Rivulet at $12 a Day tales about her sweet little boy. Sam's husband brought her a glass of red wine. "You look like you could use this, " he said. Sam sighed. Brownies and wine are good things. But, some days are just horrible, terrible, and not very good-even in London.