The milk of human kindness

Some days you're Superman, and some days you're just plain old Clark Kent.

Today most certainly fell into the latter category: I got soaked going into work, had to cross the road to avoid a homeless geezer using the footpath as a urinal, and got an email from my NZ bank to discover they had totally screwed up a term deposit. The cherry on top of this giant turd of a day was being held hostage to the megalomaniac whims of my lunatic boss, a woman whose only discernible skill seems to be squeezing every last bit of joy out of life.

But this afternoon, when I was telling my lovely pod buddy Gemma about my planned trip to Ikea to buy a clothes rail for my NZ clothes, the universe thankfully decided Shazzy's day had already overshot the runway of bad luck.

Turns out Gemma had a rail she wasn't using that was cluttering up her house. She said I'd really be doing her a favour if I took it off her hands.

The blonde bombshell and her beau even dropped it off on their way to a pub quiz.

Thanks Gem for restoring my faith in humankind - and for saving me a trip to the suburban hell that is Ikea.