Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
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| The Mean Reds |
The hubs kissed me goodbye while I was still dreaming and I mumbled something about not sleeping on my stomach to which I got another kiss on the forehead and a whispered "good job babe". Not long after that I stretched out and in the process woke up a sleeping Oscar who acknowledged the rising sun with his own morning movements and moved out from under the sheets and to a new spot under the pillows. He sighed as he got comfortable and looked at me with groggy pug eyes. I patted his pug head and told him it was a day I should simply be in bed and not even attempt human interaction. Before I could finish the sentence we both rolled our eyes as Winston the Hun began whining to be let out for his morning stroll terrorizing all the birds feeding out back.
Out of bed, the three of us made our way to the back door, yawning and stretching the entire way. Out went Winston and I got myself ready for the day.
Now when you start the day with the mean reds, you honestly have no business trying to be anything to anyone. It's much better to save your friends and colleagues the detriment of your bad attitude and pouty demeanor. Besides you never garner much sympathy, not that it would make a difference.
Well I don't live on a movie set nor is there a script so I don't have a choice but to power through the mean reds and just make it through the day.
5 outfits later I was making my way out to let the drooling-just-had-a-big-lop-of-water-beast out one last time when he decides it would be absolutely lovely to lay a big wet lick on my suede wedges. Sigh went the girl who woke up with the mean reds.
With no time to change for a 6th time I put Winston away for the day and said goodbye to Oscar. Out the door I go.
The events that proceeded in the following hours simply confirmed my case of the mean reds. A road-raged Dodge Stratus who wouldn't let me merge onto the freeway, a curt email informing me my Direct Deposit account number was invalid, and a hubs who forgot I needed the big car today.
None of these things give reason to the mean reds but they sure don't help when you've already diagnosed yourself first.
There simply aren't enough sick days.
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