Ick. I am the crankiest of the cranky. I have so many things for which to be grateful, but instead I'm CRANKY. I love my beautiful son, but he talked at me nonstop the entire time we were at the grocery store. It took me ten minutes to find the jicama because I was so distracted by the soundtrack. "Mom. Mom. Mama. Mommy, know what? Mom. Mom, look. Mommy, the Powerpuff Girls! Mom, can I have the colored cereal? Why not, mom? No, I don't want muffins! Mom. Mommmy."

Then, no one to bag my groceries--about a hundred dollars' worth--after I've finally managed to get through the check-out line with the nonstop "Mom-Mama-Mommy" in the background.

After his bath, I took another look at his rash. This caused a complete meltdown. Red face, crying with real tears, little hands clenched into sharp fists, the whole bit. "Doooooooooon't tooooouuuuch myyyyyyyyyyy buuuuuuuuuumps! You'll make them itch!"

And today at work . . . Ms. Sanctimonious Christian pointing out to me that rearranging my desk according to feng shui principles is practically IDOL WORSHIP. She used to have some feng shui books until her pastor said it was BAD. I guess her pastor said it was okay to have premarital sex with her boyfriend, though. (Just not with, like, a crystal hanging from the ceiling or a water feature in the wealth corner.)

Look, I never said I wasn't snarky from time to time.

The final straw: knowing that from now until the first of July, I will have one managing director, one vice president, and a team of analysts anxiously breathing down my neck as we try to get one hundred million dollars in the door and then back out the door into investment vehicles. I will spend countless hours updating spreadsheets and printing them for people, only to find that they never even look at my lovely spreadsheets. I will spend countless hours in cash-flow meetings, telling people what is in my spreadsheets and then telling them again because they can't remember and they won't just look at the freakin' page.

Ah criminy. Crankity-crank-crank-cranky.

And also bloated. Heh.

Yeah, it IS hard to believe I don't have a special someone, isn't it? I'm clearly such a joy.

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