Crimson Toes, Happy Faces, and... a Freudian Slip?

This morning, I was really good and made all my food for the day because on Mondays, I go nonstop from about 9AM to 10PM. For breakfast, cheese grits with turkey bacon and egg whites, green tea to drink. Lunch was going to be tuna on wheat with a side of lima beans and dinner was going to be chicken salad with raspberry vinaigrette. I had already prepared the tuna sandwich and the chicken for the salad by the time I'd realized something was horribly, horribly wrong.

My lettuce had expired.

Of course, my entire groove for the morning was thrown off- where would I get my starches and vegetables for the evening? How can I possibly claim to have three balanced meals today if I don't have salad? The catastrophe had thrust upon me a level of stress so great that it would have crushed the entirety of Washington D.C. from the weight of it had it been a physical entity and maliciously anti-American. Instead, it settled to allow searing hot water to splash onto my left foot (pain), forcing a very delayed jerk reaction that caused me to kick back into the refrigerator (more pain).

Despite having the world turn against me as if I had unflinchingly propositioned her ex-boyfriend who lives in New Hampshire so it would never work out in the first place, I had a stroke of genius. Why not just make it into a sandwich? So I did. And I had made way too many lima beans for just lunch, so I scooped half into my "dinner" tupperware.

Thirty minutes later, as I was putting on my socks, I found some dried blood on my foot from when I kicked the fridge, but I left it there because it kind of looked like Indian War Paint. In retrospect, that might have been gross.

Today has not been a good day, but I'm wearing my "Youbetchücan!" shirt from shirt woot and it's impossible to be unhappy wearing this:

Keeping the dream alive,
-dubs