Mondays can just kiss it. And then they can roll over and die.

Really should have stayed in bed this morning. But first, let's give out a Happy Birthday shout for Saxon! I won't even tell you how old he is. Except it's not as old as me, so I'd better not hear any whinging. Also, check me out with the Britishisms. I've still got it. I'm sure that work visa will be in the mail for me any day now. As will marriage proposals from Ioan, Clive, Richard, and Colin. Might need help sorting out which one to accept.

I turned up at work to find half the computers down and all these angry children beating on the front door and monkeys and dogs living together. That is just not good for me, I tell you. And of course tech support can't come until closing time. Because THAT meets my needs. So I'm just here at my desk trying out some camouflage techniques in the manner of crafty Amazon treefrogs in the hope that people won't notice I'm here. I've applied sticky notes all over my body. And I'm holding very still. And in case anyone does come in for a closer look, I've arranged for the fires of hell to blaze in my eyes.

That oughta keep 'em back.