This entire apartment smells like angry armpits. Angrier and angrier as the elevator rose to the eleventh, then full on rage on my trifolium-shaped floor. Solice, as I return home to my cat who has an obsession with kneading armpits. Today’s her lucky day.
Ms. Cashier, that wasn’t coriander. Please get your herbs right. I didn’t spend five minutes deciding between parsley and curly parsley to have this written on my receipt.
My office chair is now perfectly adjusted to my body. Which is great, as I pile the clothes that aren’t so perfectly adjusted to my body back onto it. I clamber back into this friend of mine, back and joints contorting unergonomically into my absolutely ergonomic chair. My printer is such a hassle.