I'm really loving friday playdate's Grace in Small Things. I love the idea of counting blessings.
Sadly, however, this is one area where I have to live vicariously. I'm not a blessings-counter. I can always find some reason even in the happiest moments to moan about something. The other day we went to see Inkheart, and (look away now if you don't want to know what happens) in the end the family are reunited after many years, the wife gets her voice back, and everyone is happy.
"I don't believe that," I told Mr Coffee. "I can't believe she's not telling her husband what a bad time she had. She hasn't been able to speak for years."
Mr Coffee nodded, sadly. He knew that's exactly what I would be doing if I found myself reunited with my loved ones after many years of loneliness and heartbreak. Moaning about a niggling pain in my leg or how no-one had offered me a decent hot drink in months.
So, let's play to my strengths. I offer you:
Reasons to be stressful, part 1
1) It's all very well having fancy-ass lights, but not if you can't get replacement bulbs for any of them. Our kitchen is increasingly descending into gloom. And the Black and Blum reading light looks downright alarming without a head.
2) My incomparably marvellous chocolate brownie recipe, by Bill Granger, seems to be broken. It has turned from a wonderful and delicious thing into an overly sugary affair which bursts over the side of the tin.
3) Watching the last fish die, slowly and painfully, was tragic enough (we couldn't bring ourselves to just flush it), and I'm glad that its final torment is over, but the empty tank is FREAKING ME OUT.
4) I've been to Waterstones, and can't bring myself to buy any of the Orange Prize shortlisted books. I had such good intentions, till I started reading the blurbs. Alzheimers. Death. Bombing. Death in penury. Alcoholism. Death. Maybe I need to turn into my mother, and start reading Terry Pratchett all the time.
5) The Littlest Latte's swimming instructor is planning to come off the poolside next lesson and get into the pool with us. A handsome young man in a wet shirt - I may have to be stretchered off. And then who will drive the children home?