The day started out fine and dandy. And then promptly took a nose dive and started gaining speed as it careened down a 50% grade covered with ice. And oil. And bacon grease. And anything else that would make your metaphorical car go wickedly fast. Do I even have to say metaphorical? Cause, seriously, would you drive a real car over bacon grease?
Anyway, it's a three truffle kind of day. What? So I rate my days based on the amount of chocolate it will take to keep me from going completely bonkers. Hey, it's a system and it makes perfect sense to me. And after 12 years of marriage I think it even makes sense to Major Dad now too. If I help myself to a bit of Hershey's Special Dark or even my cute little Dove Promises...not a bad day. In fact, that's pretty much normal. A little chocolate keeps the doctor away. It has anti-oxidants...and vitamins...and...uh, stuff.
If I start looking for the fancy chocolate that comes in a box, that means my generally sunny disposition may be a smidge cloudy.
But if I'm breaking into the super secret emergency supply of "could possibly send you into diabetic shock" ultra-high grade truffles...well, that means my sanity, and possibly the lives of those around me, are in danger. So just imagine the situation when I declare it to be not just a truffle day, but a three truffle day. I feel like I should notify NORAD and invoke some sort of chocolate defcon countdown.
Now, in all fairness no one is bleeding and the house is still standing, but I'm pretty sure my credibility for talking about patience and gentleness of spirit has flown right out the window. Actually I might have thrown it out the window...I don't really remember. I'm pretty sure it disappeared somewhere between the "you have to do this RIGHT NOW" email I received, my daughter's war against long-division and my son's "look at me! Look at me! LOOK AT ME! I'm a leopard!" filibuster.
It was a snowball effect. Kids being crazy, hair pulling homeschool, no bleach for the washing machine (cause it all went to the mouse tomb), pulled in twenty different directions, aaaaaaahhhhhhh! A jillion little things all added up until I finally hit my breaking point and declared the day over. At noon.
And that is a three truffle day. Trust me, you do not want to see four.