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I'd been sold a pair of jeans that were a size too small, so I went back in to town this evening - late opening on THursdays in Dublin - to change them for the right size. No way can I squeeze into 34" jeans, not if I want my voice to stay at this pitch. The girl at the scustomer service counter... well. First she almost accused me of swiping them. And then she tried to deny that they were 34". Eventually, I managed to browbeat her into giving me a pair of 36" jeans - and then asked to see a manager. The manager, glaring over my shoulder at the employee in question, gave me my money back, and I could hear him starting to rip her apart as I left. Satisfaction.
Got home to an ecstatic greeting from the cat, who was mor than slightly miffed when it was revealed that I was not, in fact, laden down with cat food. So out for more of that, and she's now fed. However, she's also in super-affection mode. Probably because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inannajones, on whom she normally lavishes this attention, is still in town. I've just removed a set of nice sharp claws from my kneecap for the third time.
Got home to an ecstatic greeting from the cat, who was mor than slightly miffed when it was revealed that I was not, in fact, laden down with cat food. So out for more of that, and she's now fed. However, she's also in super-affection mode. Probably because
inannajones, on whom she normally lavishes this attention, is still in town. I've just removed a set of nice sharp claws from my kneecap for the third time.