Filth Flarn Foul Filth

I am GRUMPY, but I didn't do it on my own, trust me.

Samantha is a total whiny ass. OK, ok, so she's four. I know, fine. But seriously, this child was pa-thet-IC about a half an hour ago, bless her whiny little heart. She got a sliver in her middle finger, which I know is no fun. But you'd have thought we were torturing her on a rack, or beating her with a belt when we took it out. I know slivers hurt, I know needles are scary, I know. But she is NOT distractable, and cannot be bought or sold when she's FREAKING OUT. She made it take four times longer than necessary, hurt more than it needed to, and made Greg and I both grumpy, and in turn then silently pissy at one another. I wasn't doing it right, he wasn't doing it right, you know the drill.

Oh, and I'm still not sure we got it all out. Greg couldn't wait 14 seconds for me to find the tweezers, so he went on ahead with clippers instead, but claims that has NOTHING to do with why only half of it came out, causing us to have to dig for the rest. Because I was busy getting the goddamned tweezers I cannot say he is wrong, so I'm taking his word for it. I can, however, need a fucking break, which I did, which I took. So now I am hiding down in my office, and he is upstairs with Miss Whiny Pants and Mr Runny Nose.

Some retail office supply therapy might help me. It's worth a shot. I wonder how late Staples is open. And if there is a bar close by. Or a McDonald's. Whichever.