Miracles DO Happen

Today, I witnessed a miracle . . . 

After a long day of feeling like Oscar the Grouch, I would normally have retired to the couch with a Large Diet Coke and a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.  I have no idea why I felt like punching someone in the face or bawling my eyes out.  Yes, it was Monday; but it wasn't a bad Monday.  I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed as they say.

The day only got better from there . . .

We were supposed to be at the gym at 6:30pm.  Normally, it wouldn't be that big of a deal; but I had other people expecting me to be. (Nancy and Shirley - shout out!).  When we didn't leave the house until after 6:30pm, I was getting more and more irritated by the minute.  Still, I was resolute in going to the gym.

And it still gets better . . .

I know I'm obsessive.  Yeah, not the shocker of the day, I know.  Every time we leave the house, I ask Philip, "Do you have your wallet and keys?"  Every time he sighs and says, "Yes."  Tonight was no different, except for when Philip went to lock the deadbolt; I saw it in his eyes.  He didn't have the keys.  Needless to say, I was not nice about it.  I was so mad I could have spit acid.  It was just the shit frosting on my turd cupcake of a day.  It would have been very easy to call my friends, tell them I was locked out of the house, and skip the gym.

Here's where the miracle happens . . .

I didn't call.  I didn't cancel.  Luckily, I had a car key.  Full of piss and vinegar, I barreled towards the gym.  My poor, poor patient and sweet hubby, I'm surprised he didn't die from exposure.  I was massively frigid.  An hour later, I had sweated out my frustrations and all the angry and depressed feelings that had ate away at me all day.  I left the gym feeling stronger - feeling happier - feeling thankful.

And yes, I did apologize to that wonderfully sweet husband of mine for being a hormonal bee-otch.