When your day starts with a live slug on your foot...

don't give up, it might actually get better.

This morning when I let Littlefoot in and Little Miss out, I felt kind of a tickly sensation on one of my feet after I closed the door. I looked down and saw a slug on my foot.

A. SLUG.

ON.

MY.

FOOT!

I proceeded to have what Patrick McManus describe as a Modified Stationary Panic, which involves jumping up and down and screaming, in this case, screaming "GETITOFFME!"

That's an exceptionally silly thing to scream when you live alone except for two dogs, one of which is outside and neither of which have opposable thumbs. Eventually, I did what any sensible person would do--I scraped the slug into the wastebasket, immediately removed and triple-knotted the bag, and then threw it out into the driveway. After that, I rinsed my foot with hydrogen peroxide and vomited.

Hell of a start to my week, and it got even worse at work. Saturday's mail was waiting for me, and it included a letter from the VA regarding one of our guardianships, telling us about the new procedures the VA has decided to start. It's not enough that all accounts going forward must have every single bank statement stamped or sealed by the bank each month, it must be done retroactively for accounts turned in as of 01/01/10. Bastards. Couldn't they go find some actual veterans to, I don't know, help? Instead, they mess around nit-picking the people who are actually helping.

Fortunately, things improved. I worked half a day for Mom, then headed north to have lunch and network a bit with my former co-workers. I got hugs from everyone, reference letters from two of the attorneys, and a compliment from another one. When she hugged me, she said, "Ooooh, you smell good, like flowers and stuff." I was wearing BPAL Swank on top of Skindecent's Sultana dupe, so lots of fruit and not many flowers, but it was still a nice compliment. We had a lovely long lunch at Zoup, then I stopped at the Lush store on my way to Maresche's house. Even though she'd left lunch before me and I'd spent about 30 minutes at Lush, I beat her to the house, so I dragged the Annabelle hydrangea she and her husband had dug up to my car and stuffed it in the trunk. I also got the trunk closed! Yay me! When Maresche got home, I had just enough time to point out her birthday present (a birdbath) and hit the road before rush hour peaked.

I came home, unloaded the hydrangea, which I will plant tomorrow after work, and let the dogs out and in with no slug-related ickiness.

So even Mondays can be newts and get better.