Appearances don't matter, I told myself as I trudged into work that morning. Who cares that my normally obedient hair had gone rogue or that I was suffering from a very noticeable case of acne?
I was still me, right?
But when my computer crashed and my e-mail disappeared and my supervisor gave me another project I realized, with apologies to Judith Viorst, that this was a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
So I shouldn't have been surprised when the air conditioner vent kicked on even though it was 40 degrees outside. It shouldn't have fazed me when my socks didn't match. I should just shrugged when they ran out of fries in the cafeteria. Because that's what happens on a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
But it just got worse. That afternoon, I was interviewing a designer; it had taken forever to get him on the phone. I'd actually moved to a more isolated cubicle for the interview. The cubicle, unfortunately, was near the bathrooms. Which they were cleaning. The toilets flushed again and again and again and again and again. I sounded like I was chatting from a highway rest stop.
I called it quits and went home. At which time I realized I'd left my wallet at work. Because that's what happens on a Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
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