No, I am not talking about the aches in my gluteus maximus and my right calf from two hours of mulching on Sunday.
Nor am I talking about trying to explain to a collections representative that a guardianship is more powerful than a mere power of attorney.
I'm certainly not talking about anything to do with Mr. Potato Dick.
I'm not even talking about the soul-searing anguish of discovering that I've put a hole in the heel of my neon-kitty socks.
No, I'm talking about the tortures of the damned. I have to sit here at work for another gross of minutes (yes, exactly 144 minutes) while at home, on my doorstop, is my LUSH order. It's sitting on my doorstep, lonely and waiting for me to come home, open it, sniff everything, sort all of my new stuff into the appropriate hidey-holes around the house, sigh longingly over the items I'm giving as gifts, and then, finally, take a bath with it!
This day will NEVER be over and I will NEVER get home to my Lush. *sob*
Okay, I managed to kill 4 minutes by blogging. I still want my Lush.
