Some of you might know I recently had the best day ever. Really, I mean it. I woke up earlier than I would have liked but then had the most impressively awesome, hyperproductive day ever. I took the tube from Richmond to Hammersmith to St Pancras and met a good friend for lunch at the British Library. Fun.
I took the tube from St Pancras to Tooting Bec (OK, I will admit, not so nice) for my awesome National Insurance interview. Here I should note that I have some choice words about the fact that I had to have an interview out in East Jesus, London, for the honor of paying into National Insurance, but I am talking about my best day ever here, so I am going to shelve that rant for the moment. And actually, though I waited for forty-five minutes to have my interview, the actual interview took about two minutes and I didn't have to plead my case, show evidence, or stress about it at all, so we can consider that a win.
I then took the tube from Tooting Bec to Stockwell to Victoria to Chiswick Park, where I had arranged an appointment to try on my first ever wedding dress. Uh...everyone who reads my blog knows I got engaged, right? Well, I got engaged. And I scoured the internet for the perfect dress because while I desire to look fabulous in my wedding dress, I have no intention of wandering with my entourage to every bridal shop in London and sipping cheap champagne while trying on every poofy, sparkly gown under the sun. No. I want straps. I don't want sparkles. I don't want to look like a fairy princess. I don't even want to look like a regular princess. I want to look pretty, but like a pretty adult who is taking the wedding seriously. Don't even show me a tiara. Er...right, so I went to Chiswick to try on my one wedding dress, loved it, decided my search was over, and moved right along. Wedding dress: done aaaaaand done!
As I was leaving the bridal shop, I decided to check for missed calls on my phone. You see, I had been invited for a second interview for an editorial assistant position at an educational publishing company and had been told that I would receive a phone call about the position on Friday (my best day ever). Well, the day wore on and on and I had convinced myself that the longer it took, the less likely I was to get the job. But...I got the job! Yay for me! I'm going to be an editorial assistant!!! Whee!
Uh, so then I went and got a Starbucks latte. I mean, wedding or no wedding, I deserve a sugar-filled dessert-disguised-as-life-blood latte after landing a job, right? Right.
THEN I took the tube from Chiswick Park to Stamford Brook (er, I missed the Turnham Green station, like the shining idol of awesomeness that I am) to Richmond and went home in time to meet Matthew...who had just picked up Moose...who had just had the worst day ever.
The vet's post-care letter home to us read (in case we didn't know, having booked the appointment): "Your dog has been castrated."
...
...
...those bastards castrated my dog? They said they were going to neuter my dog! They called it The Big Snip! But...castration? Good Lord, people. Where is the decency? Who does that to an animal? What if he misses his buddies?
OK, just kidding. It was That Time. He's old enough, was marking all over the place, and he was definitely paying the lady dogs a little more attention than before. Sniff. My little baby is growing up.
Anyway, it is fair to say that while I was busy having the best day ever, Moose was busy having the worst. Sorry Moose. But my day was awesome!
So I put Moose to bed. I gave him tons of lovely things to chew on (to distract him from looking for certain items long gone). And then I took the tube from Richmond to Monument to London Bridge to have celebratory drinks (Happy Birthday, Caroline) with friends.
Thanks for the great day, Moose. I'm sure karma will soon work its equalizing ways for us both, buddy.
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