Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy

Hello. My name is Brooke and I? I am a grumpoholic.

This morning when I couldn't find my car keys? I was grumpy.

Trying to get the kids out of the house in time for an appointment? I was grumpy.

Not able to find that one tiny piece of hair that was in my field of vision but was beyond my abilty to grasp and move out of the way? I was grumpy.

Realizing I still needed to go to the commissary? Grump city.

Trying to turn into one of the parking lot rows in order to find a space (yeah, right) only to have a car practically run a stop sign, turn right in front of me, and then stop dead causing the ass end of my car to hang out into the actual road messing up everyone else's day and driving plans? Whoooooooweeeeeeeee. Gruuuuuummmmmpy me.

And, I'm not proud to say, I did something I rarely do when the kids are with me, I honked my horn at the dimwit in front of me. Not a nice little beep beep either. It was a soul satisfying, anger reducing hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Translation? Get the eff out of my way, jerk! Which, I must admit, in my current state of grumpiness I would likely have yelled if the kids hadn't been with me. Sigh.

So no commissary for us this morning. We did go this afternoon. It went much better until the kids started trying to baseball slide down the aisles. And then...you guessed it...I was grumpy.

At this point I'm trying to figure out if it's society in general or this nasty heat that's making me so grumpy.

Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy.

I think I need some chocolate.