I hung out with some of the guys in the Souk on Saturday night so waking up for the early Sunday shift was a killer.

Usually, I try to pack a lunch the night before, but I dropped off to bed with barely enough time to find clean underwear, much less make a meal. I had gone grocery shopping on Saturday morning, and thrown the bag in the fridge without unpacking it (the joys of single life) so I grabbed the bag, shoved it into my backpack and went tearing off to work.

It was a crazy day. I mean, just flat-out nuts. One customer went ballistic after her llama set off the security gates (we forgot to take off the bridle tags) and another had a meltdown because we stopped giving discounts on tiger cubs (now it's dragon eggs). The wenches kept running out of change in their aprons, and the rain was interfering with our intercom systems. It was getting stupid, and I couldn't wait to get home to a plate of warm cookies and a good novel -- both waiting paitently for my return.

So I finally get home, and snuggle up cozily to my reading and treats, and have a relaxing evening until I fall asleep and wake up on Monday with barely enough time to find a clean pair of socks.

On my way out of the door, I see my backpack. It's open. And inside? A bag of groceries. I had forgotten to put them back in the fridge when I got home from the Souk, and a week's worth of cheese, lunchmeat, mayo and yogurt sat out all night long. Part of me wanted to make a sandwich out of sheer perversion, but I think it must be hard to be defiant when you've food-poisoned yourself.

So it's PB&J for lunch today!