Huff Doo

I try to limit my grumpy days one a month, but occasionally the grumbles run away with me. As has been the case since Saturday, when for no apparent reason I entered a state of extreme lethargy and began to waste time on an epic scale.

Now, as previously discussed at some considerable length, the wasting of time is something I do not take to lightly. When my brain decides it's had enough of being helpful, the rest of me tends to enter into panic mode at the very idea of not doing anything productive and then the whole lot freezes up and becomes incapable of useful movement.

Add to that a hell of a week, one or two (dozen) highly aggravating people, the tax man wanting to take me for every penny I have and various other exciting little experiences and the grand result is: a grump.

One that Best Mate single-handedly managed to lift.

Texting me on my way home from work, she expressed her affection and concern for my irritable state. I wrote back to say I was going home for a grumble and that I felt like one of those trolls, only with flatter hair.

To which she said:

"I am also imagining you as Scrappy Doo...Huff Doo."

Thanks to this startlingly amusing sentence, Huff Doo has this evening proofed 50 pages of Tim's book and 21 pages of her own and written this blog and will be heading off momentarily to read more of her Dreamweaver idiot guide. The bitch is back.