I'm not a doctor, but I know a sure cure when I see one.
So I'm going to pretend to be a doctor, and write a prescription for my readers, many of whom, (through some amazing coincidence) happen to be mothers generously blessed in the humor department.
If you're having a bad day, go read this. It's from finslippy's blog. Check out the comments.
I was ready to type in an entry today. My subject was going to be the combination of the two females of this household, a deadline, and a dearth of properly-working computer software and peripherals.
Why the good lord has been unusually lavish, even for Him, in the area of computers (six at last count, in a household with only four inhabitants--which, yes, seems excessive) yet doesn't see fit to bless me with a working copy of Microsoft Word or a printer that actually prints, I do not know. I was therefore planning on exploring these matters in a blog entry, the working title of which was "The Permission Slip Follies." The entry would have featured an accurate portrayal of a certain grimness, seasoned with anxiety and panic, and would have ended with both parties bursting into tears.
However, I have now read every single one of the over 160 comments to that entry of finslippy's, and now I don't need to vent.
Check it out. In fact, bookmark it. I'm the doctor, and finslippy? Is the pharmacist.