This Is The Cult Of Snap!

Yesterday everything was pretty damned funny. I spent a lot of time giggling. Not girly giggling, more like if you can imagine Errol Flynn or Basil Rathbone giggling. I was giggling like a swashbuckler. It's just how I giggle.

Then today, I was the grimmest fucker you could imagine. My mood was hair trigger sensitive and blood thirsty, and I have no idea why. Everything was done the wrong way, people were stupid, there were no sytems where clearly systems should be in place, the slightest unexpected noise was an explosion of aggression.

I was aware that I had already huffed a few too many times and was trying to keep it under control, but The Dreaded One (who was yawning waaaaay too frequently all morning) came into the shop with me and had to go out the back for something. I was at the computer entering stupid new stock into the stupid datafrigginbase and the goddamnmotherfucking back door must have blown shut. So The Dreaded One let herself back in and asked, "Why did you lock me out?" My reply may have been a tad over the top...

"I DIDN'T LOCK YOU OUT," I snapped. "WHY WOULD I LOCK YOU OUT? I WAS HERE AT THE COMPUTER THE WHOLE TIME! WHAT A COMPLETELY STUPID THING TO ACCUSE SOMEONE OF DOING!"

"Okay. Calm down. I just thought you locked me out."

"I JUST SAID I DIDN'T LOCK YOU OUT! DON'T KEEP ACCUSING ME OF THINGS I DIDN'T DO. WHAT A TOTALLY UNREASONABLE AND UNJUST THING TO ACCUSE ME OF!"

A moment of baffled silence. "Why are you so angry today?"

"THERE YOU GO AGAIN UNFAIRLY ACCUSING ME OF STUFF! I'M NOT ANGRY. OKAY?"

Later, I had to change the clothes on one of the manequins, and I went all muttery because of his stubborn refusal to cooperate. "Stop struggling," I muttered vehemently as we wrestled about. "Insolent piece of shit... what did you say to me? Oh yeah? You just watch what you say to me clothes boy or I'll take your fucking head off. And don't you dare look at me like that."

I really don't know what it was all about. How is it possible for a reasonably intelligent person's temper to explode all because, as happened a short time later, a coat hanger doesn't fit through the neck of a T shirt as easily as it would if you were living in paradise?

I really need to break this mood before tonight because I'm being sent to review a contemporary dance performance. "Ooo-ooh, don't the dancers all think they're sooo clever..."

I think someone must be voodooing my sorry arse. Either that or I've got hormones.