I had an incredible morning. It’s sunny, there’s a good breeze, I got three pairs of pants that fit — on sale! — and I got gifties for both my guys. I’m so excited about one of them, because it pertains to music-listening in the car. (Yay! Yay! Finally! Ssssh — HRH doesn’t know and won’t till tomorrow morning.)

And then I got home and found a message on my machine from HRH. Who, incidentally, got home last night later than he’d expected, because the ostensibly easy build went wrong thanks to bad measurements taken by the quotes guy, and then was told that he had to pack the truck for a long-distance two-person build today. The message informed me that some of the wrong stuff had been packed for today’s build and neither of the guys caught it last night. So he’ll have to drive four hours out to wherever it is to finish this build on Sunday.

Yes. You read that correctly. On Sunday. One of the days that’s part and parcel of our booked vacation.

I could scream. I don’t even know what’s going on this weekend any more. I don’t know what can go on.

I’m so angry that I’m trembling.

I am so very, very tired of life kicking us and our friends when we’re down.