PB

I spilt peanut butter on my black shirt this morning. A silly move, but totally unavoidable. Shouldn't have been eating peanut butter anyway. Meh.

The PB on my top only served to highlight the fact that it was actually too big for me, and I started to stress and be a complete knob about the fact that I probably looked like a right fatty with peanut butter down my top and a billowing top. Blah. This was not a good situation to be in.

So, I walked to Jeans West - the shop that I bought my top at - and I found the smaller size, tried it on, and voila! Brand new top, fitted, no PB.

The fact that I am now wearing a size 10 - my PB (Personal Best) - is extremely exciting. It's completely distracted me from the fact that I have a shit load of work to do, my email is down and I have to fuck about with stoopid errands at lunch time.

Ra ra ra.

It's also distracted me from the fact that V Day is on Thursday. Although I had forgotten about it prior to this morning, which is a damned record; a PB in fact. Usually by now I would have subjected my readers to my annual Pre V-Day rant - but this year, I just don't feel that it's necessary! Don't worry - the world hasn't changed its course - I'm still single and living with my cat - but I'm not so desperately single as previous years. Sweet.