I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. Some holiday or other. La la la. This means:
- I can have another glass of wine. Or, I could if we had any more wine but because I didn’t have time to forward plan, we don’t. Plus my first glass of wine was huge.
- I don’t have to go to bed at 9.30pm but can have a proper, non-commuting grown up bedtime. Maybe 10pm.
- My travel coffee cup is still in the car, and defiantly unwashed. Because I won’t be using it in the morning.
- It doesn’t matter that I’ve run out of snack bars, because I will not be eating breakfast in the car.
- I will switch off my alarm clock. Although I fully intend to be up by 8am to watch Wimbledon.
- I don’t have to figure out now what I will be wearing tomorrow. Because I will be wearing pyjamas until the tennis is over.
- I don’t have to worry about the downstairs neighbour coming home at midnight with 14 of his mates and deciding that is an excellent time to light a bonfire and enjoy the summer evening by talking VERY LOUDLY outside our bedroom window.
- I won’t switch my Blackberry on until Monday.
- I don’t have to find a book to read on the train tomorrow.
- By the time I go to work on Monday I may have forgotten about today’s horrendous meeting, or will at least find it amusing rather than saying ‘That woman is a triple plated, five star bitch and This. Means. War’ (although, for the record, she is and it does).
- Tomorrow night I will still have a whole weekend ahead of me in which to continue doing sweet fuck all