Monday - A Day Of Mourning

So I made an error today.  I wore black.  Top to toe.  I like wearing black when I'm in a state of mourning.  I wear it on Mondays very often.  But today, it was especially important to wear black because, well, today marks the day of my return to work after a glorious 6 weeks of leave.  The leave, evidently, is the part of my job that I love most.

But it was an error.  Because it wasn't like today was the coldest day known to man.  I sweltered.  Melted.  I perspired like a blind lesbian in a fish shop (old, I know, but it still makes me laugh).  But the heat aside, I shouldn't have worried too much about my return to work.  It wasn't half bad.  And quite nice, actually, to see the colleagues I actually like.

But then I made a faux pas of monumental proportion.  Now, before I recount the story, please don't cast me in the role of self-absorbed bimbo.  I'm not.  Well, I am.  But not entirely.  What I mean is, I care about what I wear and what I look like and what make-up I wear.  Sometimes.  But I also have a brain (sometimes - but not in the choosing of potential life-partners.  Nope.  Then I'm truly brainless.).

You see, last night I battled to sleep.  I tossed and turned because I didn't have my usual two glasses of medicinal wine prior to bed.  Leave is a truly wonderful thing except for the fact that it cultivates and encourages alcoholism.  And when I eventually fell off to sleep, my sleep was, to say the least, fitful.  My rest was plagued by a nightmare that left my clothes, sheets, pillows even, soaked in sweat.  The night sweat would have rivaled any menopausal wench.

And when did I recall the narrative of my nightmare?  In the middle of a meeting with middle-aged women.  It kind of went a little like this:

Boss Lady:  Are you feeling alright Pant?

The Pant:  Yes, I'm perfectly fine.  Just a little tired.  Not used to getting up early.  Oh, and I had a terrible night's sleep.

BL:  Shame, why?

TP:  My word, I had the most hectic nightmare.  It was awful.  I dreamt that my hair was going grey.  And I had these big silver streaks all over my head.  Scared the bejesus out of me.

And then I looked up.  At her face.  And then her hair.  With its big silver streaks all over.  Shining under that fluorescent light.  Glowing, almost.  Taunting me.  Begging me to say something else.

No. of days of work this year: 1

No. of times pissed Boss Lady off: 1

Brilliant.