Head cold

I didn't write anything yesterday because I was siiiiick. That exaggeration in the vowel wasn't supposed to mean "I was way sick." It was supposed to be like a whine, because that's how I feel again today. Like whining. So here goes.
Let's talk about pet peeves. Aside from sore throats and the inability to breathe out of one or both nostrils, I hate it when women under the age of, say, 112 call me "Sweetie." I despise it. And coming from someone within 5 years of your own age just makes it sound condescending. I just started a new job, and one of the other girls called me Sweetie today. My first inclination was to go, "Oh HELL no!" and cut off her ponytail, but I realized that my head was so stuffy my reflexes might not be in top form and she could outrun me or spray me with a sample perfume in the eyes. So I did nothing.

I believe that this bothers me so much because I have always looked younger than my age, and felt like I had to try harder to be taken seriously. Come to think of it, I'm probably afraid that people call me Sweetie because I look like a child.

This takes too much brainpower, and I am not feeling my best. As you can see.


The tissue-in-nose trick was taught to me by a friend of mine many years ago, and it has always served me well. And if you can manage to drag your eyes away from that Thing in the foreground, note the curtains and walls, if you can, and their distinctly Oompa Loompa inspired color palette that I mentioned last time.
I know the picture is crooked. Give me the time to care and I will fix it for you.