I’m really liking my job lots - after listening to the interplay between team members in my new department, I asked, “Is it a requirement to be sarcastic to work on this team?” One gal replied, “Absolutely,” and I saw a couple of people nodding in agreement.

Excellent. (This should be phenomenally entertaining.)

Today was the official Orange Splat takeover day. (Everybody who was betting on it lost, since nobody foresaw it happening on a Tuesday which wasn’t even the first, fifteenth, or last day of a month.) Oh woo and hoo, can’t you sense the excitement? They had cake with orange frosting and orange soda in the lunchroom for all the employees today. Cash would have been far more appreciated - or even new mousepads or calendars or something otherwise useful (although I’ve heard rumors that our third quarter bonus checks are coming on Friday, and that would be nice!).

The major drawback to working day shift is not seeing my beloved more than one waking hour a day. It was hellaciously difficult to climb out of bed this morning, when all I wanted to do was roll myself onto him and enjoy feeling his skin and smelling him and cuddling him in his sleep. But it means that the demonspawn & I do spend more time together, and many good things come of that. Angst snuggled with me on the sofa while we watched “Judging Amy” (our prerequisite chick show) tonight, and there was much laughter with both girls.

Angst was feeding Zadya a tiny piece of cheese from her sandwich, and Zadya just kept sniffing it interestedly, but wouldn’t lick it off her fingers. After a few moments, I lost patience with the stupid cat and took the cheese from Angst, and put it on the floor so the spoiled cat would eat it (which she did). Anxiety scolded, “Hey, you aren’t supposed to feed the cat people food!” I instantly pointed to Angst and protested, “She started it!” Angst was caught between being appalled and laughing her ass off, and Anxiety started in on a total motherly lecture, which I had trouble not laughing at a lot (because it sounded just like me) before I queried, “So how do you like being the mother, hmm?” She didn’t find that so amusing. Sheesh, 12-year-olds.

And when Angst got her second or third snack after dinner, I accused her of becoming a fat little piglet. (My daughters don’t have any issues about their size or shapes, so I’m not the least bit worried about damaging their self-esteem or triggering any eating disorders. Besides, our family isn’t status-conscious enough to spawn eating disorders.) In a tone of voice which made it clear that it should be obvious how sensible she’s being, Angst replied, “I’m not a little piglet; I’m building up my fat layer to keep me warm during the nasty cold winter!” Damn, it’s not like we live in the Yukon! But I love my sassy girls.