What? Say that again slowly...

Out of nowhere the wretched Work-Monster flies in, and poops on my weekend. Thanks heaven above, you truely love me with all the angel wings in the world. I was just sitting there minding my own business (or lack there of) and WACK...

Semi-conscious, poop on me face, I dig deep and pull myself towards myself. I don't think being half-mast and groggy (from all the abusive substances- and yes chilli jam sarmies do constitute) will productively lessen the weekend load.

Serves you right, man upstairs ie. Peter the CEO of the company... You should know better than take my treasured Sat and Sun days- while you tan around the poolside with hovering scantilly clad woman serving you champers.

P.S. Ummm, does anyone have an alarm clock for me?