it never rains

but poursso, now the laundry situation is sorted (at great expense) (why does everything cost so much these days?) (or has it always cost a lot?) and the tooth situation is under control (the dentist's control, not mine) (and even tho it's on the NHS, it's costing a mint too) (what happens to the poor souls who can't afford dental treatment? that's what I'd like to know) the next wave of minor irritations is upon me: my eyesight is getting worse and I need to wear my glasses all the time or else I get aching eyes, so I go to the opticians and it turns out that my prescription is completely wrong so I need new glasses and The Teen didn't tell me but there is a leak in his part of the roof (I wondered where that saucepan had disappeared to) so I spend over two and half hours speaking to five different individuals repeating the same thing five times over trying to track down an insurance policy that I pay for but isn't on the various systems of the insurance people only to find that it'll probably be cheaper for me to just get it mended rather than losing my no claims bonus and the premiums going up next year (what's the point of having insurance if you can't make a claim when you need?) and the broken loo that was mended has now broken again but the plumber who came last time can't come until next week and they won't send a different guy
.
.and and and and.
.
I don't know why I'm bothering writing this we all have this crap to deal with on a day to day basis, don't we? and, believe it or not, I hate to moan! I mean some of us are lucky enough to live in our own houses and with the money to pay for the stuff that needs to be done; at times like this X, the children's father, used to say "I hate being a grown-up" and altho I can see the benefits of being a grown-up sometimes I do wonder why it is all so complicated
.

or do I just need to change my perspective? I've had months without health problems and weeks go by without householder nonsense to deal with and there's money in the bank to sort everything out eventually so perhaps I should just shut my big bazzoo (as Frasier's dad Martin would no doubt say)

awwwwwwwwwwwww! see!! that was worth it, wasn't it? Nancy keeps asking for a dog and I keep pointing out that we already have four cats. . .

(this is the smallest, Mini Jo, asleep in a bowl of shells
that I picked up on the beach
when I was away for the weekend that time a while back)