Terrible. Horrible. No Good. Very Bad. Day.

Note: Judith Viorst is my inspiration for this little rant. If you haven't read her children's book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, please pick up a copy. It's genius, yes.

Sadly, The Trophy Wife is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I went to sleep with my purple flannel pajamas on and I woke up naked and feeling feverish and achy and when I got out of bed my hair was stuck to my neck and my nose was unfortunately a little crusty from my stupid cold. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast, my whipped cream bottle was empty and who wants Bob's Mighty Tasty Gluten Free cereal without whipped cream? And then the phone rang and my voice was squeaky and squawky and the man was saying, Are you all right? while my cereal was getting cold and turning into mortar and I'm saying, I'm fine, I'm fine, but I'm not fine. I am miserable. I think I'll move to Australia.

I figured a hot shower would help, but I got shampoo in my eyes and the razor blade was dull and I shaved and shaved and shaved, but I've still got hairy legs and the hot water made my skin so dry that I can't move my lips. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

And when I came downstairs the dog was sitting by the front door needing a walk and so off we went in my fleece pants and my yellow thermal and my blue Fargo sweatshirt and my hair was wet and I was freezing, so I put on the hood part and when I got home with the dog's poop in a neat little ziploc baggie, my hair was drying into a convoluted mess. I doubt that anyone has a bad hair day in Australia.

And there is a line of ants marching from a teeny hole in the woodwork on the staircase all the way down the stairs and down the wall and through the family room and into the kitchen, where they found some miniscule piece of something delicious and when I spray them with Raid, I have dead ants to clean up and oily spots on the wall. I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

And then a real estate agent calls and says Is it convenient to take a look at your house now? and my voice is saying Of course and my mind is singing The Ants Go Marching Song and I wonder if I will ever sell my lovely home and I am wondering if the real estate market is better in Australia.

So I do what any Trophy Wife would do in this situation. I find a piece of dark chocolate and a Diet Coke.

Yes, I'm having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. But some days are like that. Even in Australia.