I had big plans for today. Got my combats and black hoodie on. Gloomy mood. Going to skulk in the corner, stare at the ceiling and try to contact my inner emo animal.
But then she goes and discovers Pink Martini. That's a band - not a drink - although you'd wonder if you saw her trying to tango last night.
So. Now what. It's difficult to think dark, mournful thoughts about misery and stuff - you know - death, despair, disapproving rabbits - when she might appear at any moment and expect me to make like Fred Astaire.
She knows I'd rather be Carmen Miranda.