I made a decision a couple of days ago to give up soda.
Like all together.
Because every six months or so, I decide that.
Then, one of my clients called and wanted to know if I could drop some Coke off at her house, so I did, and I brought a 12-pack home with me (because they were 3 for $9 and she only needed 2).
I wasn't going to actually drink any of it, it was for Husband.
But then, when I got home from church, I needed a slug.
Isn't it sad that I feel that way after church? Like I've just barely survived, hanging on by my fingernails, and I need something to get me through the rest of the day.
If I wasn't a Mormon, I'd have fixed myself something slushy. With plenty of alcohol.
The funniest thing about it is that today's class wasn't even bad. Sure, there were several outbursts from the kid who always has outbursts and yes, Husband (who graciously stepped in because the other lady is still out of town), may or may not have threatened him with physical violence, but other than that, it was just a bunch of talk, talk, talky 3-year-olds who didn't listen to any of my instructions as all 3-year-olds are bound to do.
It didn't help matters that I was feeling particularly hot and dizzy, and thought I might have to lay down on the floor for just a few minutes to regain my equilibrium.
Good gravy, help me.