Pefect Irony

Yesterday I posted a quote that said "Today is a perfect day for a perfect day." I was busy feeling extremely positive about life, which was a good sign for a Monday.

So now I'm sitting here reflecting on whether it really was a perfect day:

It was rainy and cool, which I loved. I got to wear my new (to me) purple sweater to work due to the cool weather. Work was a little slow, but I had a delicious lunch of leftover Wecks. I started planning a co-birthday tea party for my sister and her baby girl, who is almost one. And I'm very excited about that. I went to my soccer game, and there were actually enough girls to field a whole team. And it was under 100 degrees. And we won.

But I broke my nose.

That was pretty unpleasant, and pretty darn unperfect. It spurted blood all over everywhere and is still bleeding off and on. And now my face is incredibly swollen, I look like an alien version of myself - eyes too small and too far apart, nose far too broad at the top, discoloration turning to bruises around my eyes...not to mention the blinding headache/noseache.

So , the beginning of the second half of that game kind of sucked. Plus, the guy that basically punched me in the nose never even apologized.

But, after the game, I got some Starbucks. And a cheeseburger. And when I got home, I got a phone call from my best friend Emily in Thailand! And we talked for over and hour and it was delightful!

So was it a perfect day? Not exactly. Was it still a good day? Mostly. Is it a good thing that I really enjoy irony? Definitely.