H is for … Horrendously Horrible Humiliation

You know what I'm talking about. It’s the feeling you get after rushing around the supermarket and loading your trolley/cart to the brim with enough groceries to feed a family for a fortnight and then when you get to the checkout you discover you haven’t got your purse.

It happened to me yesterday and it was horrid.

Thankfully I discovered my purse at home and the horrible nightmare of leaving it in a shop in town didn't eventuate.

It’s probably the same feeling you get when you leave your bike outside knowing that it's a high-risk suburb and when you come back out it’s disappeared and you have to explain to your parents that your only mode of transport has been stolen. (Am I correct Son-you-know-who-you-are?)

But H is also for holidays … and I’m already halfway through this term break and wondering why I can't seem to get through my to-do list ... and for hair which sometimes I think I should cut into a bob and be done with it ... and for health and the fun I had yesterday trying to explain to Son#5 the reason I want to lose weight (he, trying to pay me a compliment told me that because I was short I looked worse than I am!) ... and for hats which I hate with a vengeance despite buying a cute summer one last year ... and for helping hand. And what better helping hands could I have than these ones?