It’s all in the shoes

The potato leek tart came out great, but I blew the being nice bit. It isn’t nine o’clock in the morning yet, and I have had a full scale, all red in the face, knock down drag out bust up (with myself, but facing Jonathan). Jonathan doesn’t yell or get upset really. It’s parent teacher conferences today for Ferdinand, which for no reason (except that I am afraid of teachers) gives me enough stress to pass around and still have extra for the whole school full of mothers. I could yell at an ant for leaving the house. Plan B: I could join an order of nuns that don’t speak. Plan C: I could make pulled taffy
Plan D: Pretend nothing happened, put on a respectable pair of shoes, a skirt suit, and a hair-do, and get out there and meet with the teacher like the rest of them.

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