At about 10:05 p.m. I came home. Yes, I'm sorry. I thumped the door into the toolbox a couple of times trying to get my gimped cart inside. I didn't mean to thump. There's NO BLOODY FREAKING REASON to stomp and thump in retaliation for an ACCIDENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Good grief, I wound up tearing my cart up on the ride back home. The 488 stopped suddenly, too suddenly for me to brace myself. So I took a spill into the aisle, on top of my cart. The handle is all kinds of messed up. I'm too tired, and it's too late to attempt to fix it, and I have my doubts a hammer is going to be adequate to fix the gimped cart. It's a wonder my body didn't suffer more than some abrasions to the knees.
So yes, I'm tired. I'm cranky. And my steadfast shopping companion is closer to a total loss. So while I should have the "fuck it" beat and bang attitude present, that's not what I was doing. I was simply trying to get the red gimp cart inside. That's all. So fuck you, Upstairs Stomper. Choke on your fragging dog.
