She thinks that the Gods hate her today. There really isn't another explanation. Because today?

Worst. Day. Ever.

She rips her stockings running for the bus - her car's been repossessed from lack of payment and she can't afford cabs.

During lunch, a quick sandwich eaten standing because all the benches along the Mall are occupied, she drops a large blob of mayonnaise on her silk blouse.

The handle on her leather briefcase, the stitching of which has slowly been unraveling because she's crammed a hundred copies of her resume inside, finally gives way in the middle of crossing Pennsylvania Ave. By the time it's safe to cross again, the bag is decorated with tire tracks.

She's late for her fifth job interview because it starts to rain. The weather prediction had been for brilliant sunshine and she wasn't expecting to be drenched in a freak storm. The hand dryer in the bathroom of a fast food restaurant blows too hot and burns her skin.

When she trudges up the stairs to her front door she fails to notice the little present her neighbor's cat has left. Well... she was going to throw these shoes away one day. May as well be now.

She sorts through her mail as she drinks her third glass of wine. Bill. Bill. Chinese takeout menu. Bill. A heavy cream envelope with her name written in calligraphic script. She uses her keys to slit it open.

Inside, nestled in a fold of tissue paper, is an invitation.

Two names; two people she hasn't spoken to in years and yet still sees around the Beltway. Her ex and his assistant, both now political heavyweights in the new Administration, are apparently ready to announce to the world what she'd seen between them from the very beginning.

As she drops the invitation on the floor she looks speculatively at the empty bottle of wine on the table.

On her worst day ever she deserves something stronger.