Monday kicked my ass again, and I should wear my glasses when texting.

That bitch Monday won again. We were done packing at 6:30 - so everyone should have been out of the door at 7. Except the garbage hopper fell off of the lift truck into the dumpster. By the time my shipper/receiver (by the way - he is so lucky he's my favorite) got a chain and hauled it out it was 7:30.

Meh, it was still kind of an early night.

So tonight all of my recent rage built up and I sent The Polish Guy a text. "I think you're a giant asshole for the way you ended things. It was cold, mean and unnecessarily cruel."

Stunningly I heard the ding of a response. When I got up the nerve to check, it was only "You got the wrong number"

My reply "Sorry, story of my life." Sue me, I'm feeling sorry for myself here.

Then I texted my girlfriend.

Me: Did he seriously change his number even? What a fucking asshole.

GF: Not that I know of, haven't talked to him today.

Me: Well then he's just being a fucking cunt.

GF: Why what's wrong.

Me: I just felt it was time to tell him I think he's a giant asshole.

GF: Vanessa

Me: Sometimes it's got to be said. And if he changed his number just lately I haven't texted him in over a fucking month.

Me: Actually, I need to put my glasses on. I did have the wrong number.

I must be completely deranged, because now I'm just finding this entire situation hilarious. It is kind of disappointing that I no longer feel the need to send that text though. Now is right about when he would have to painfully struggle out of bed (with his broken ribs) to see that it was only me telling him he's an asshole.

He is a giant asshole. A ginormous asshole.