At 7.45 this morning I yelled at my son while he stood on the side of the road refusing to go into his before school care.
It had been one of “those mornings”. You know the ones.
The ones that start off in hell and go downhill from there.
It was the last straw literally.
“For crying out loud. Just listen to me.” I said a little too sharply.
It was either too loud or too sharp or too angry as it made the head of a nearby woman swivel, she gave me one of those looks.
You know “those looks” you always get on “those mornings”.
On another day I might have been bothered, but this day I wasn’t.
She didn’t know my story.
She didn’t know what had gone on that morning.
She didn’t have a clue who I was or why I yelled or what it was about.