It's cold at Chez Gingham. The bed, what with its electric heating apparatus, is warm and cozy. I hit the snooze too many times. A friend is coming over after work and I didn't have time to straighten my apartment this morning and won't have time before she arrives to do any cleaning either. Then I walked out to my car and found a ticket on the windshield, because I'm lazy and dumb. All this left me in a mood. So, naturally, the first person I talk to is some overly glib morning person who greets me with a "Good Morning! How was your weekend??" I mumbled "fine" and went about the business of making a cup of coffee. Then another person asked "how was your weekend" and the poor gal in the work room with me had to hear my rant.
"How was my weekend? It was boring, because my life is boring. I did the same thing I do almost every weekend. I sit on my sofa and knit and maybe watch some bad movies, or good ones if my Netflix came through. Occasionally, as need be, I'll do some laundry or venture to the store for a necessity or two. But for the most part, my weekend--every weekend--is exactly the same. So I wish these cheery mothers would stop asking me every &^%$# Monday how it was. " Or something along those lines.
To which she replied, "so, how was your weekend?"
I had some extra strong coffee and was my usual ray of sunshine coated in sweetness in no time. But, whoa, I was a little scary for a while.