Can’t Complain:

The day I walk in the door tired and frazzled and ready to pick a fight is the day he looks up and says, “Damn, Gina… I like that skirt.”

The morning I wake up feeling foul and cranky—the only way I can even get myself out of bed is the promise of a nap later—is the morning there are homemade biscuits and gravy waiting in the kitchen at work.

The powers that be are just bound and determined to make me have a good day, so who am I to fight it?