I'm sporting a bruise the length of my hand, which I got from taking out the futon out of the garage and smashing my thigh against a sharp corner.

I washed bedclothes, guest towels and arranged a room for a pair of guests that asked to stay a night during ComicCon. I cleaned the house a bit for company, said no to an invite to dinner with friends and generally arranged my day to accomodate my houseguests. You know what happened by now, right?

After waiting to receive word all week on what time they were going to arrive, they called a few hours ago to cancel. They changed plans. It was one of those moments where I had to decide how much I could get from calling them out on their rudeness and general fail. I didn't, not over the phone. I might write an email later, which I just know will mean they will never contact me again, which sounds like a pretty good idea.