Sometimes I genuinely believe my life should be a sitcom. Someone should just film me at all times and capture the moments of hilarity, Jeremy Beadle-style…

Here’s how my afternoon went down:

I worked out really hard at my aerobics class after work, and then Clarissa and I cycled all the way home – and I even turned right on a mini-roundabout without having to get off and push! Road-cycling badge achieved. I am extremely proud of myself.

I came home and decided to treat my tired, sore, sweaty muscles to a bath. I love baths, but I almost never have them, because frankly if you don’t have the time for music, bubbles, wine, exfoliation, foot scrubs and a good book, then you may as well just have a shower as far as I’m concerned. Baths are both sacred and extremely ritualistic in Maya’s world.

So there I was, in my lovely, hot, relaxing bath,
Music – Jack Johnson (I decided to go old school)
Book – Ayoade on Ayoade (It’s hilariously weird, and makes perfect bath-time reading)
The best Body Scrub in the world – From an amazing care package that my dear friend sent me years ago. I think she may have made it herself and it’s AMAZING.

When I stepped out of the bath, I felt more relaxed than I have in weeks. I felt all soft and clean and relaxed and scrubbed and delicious.

I drifted downstairs humming along to Jack Johnson, went to feed the cats, and then STEPPED IN A PILE OF CAT SICK.
It was camouflaged, as apparently regurgitated cat biscuits are the exact same colour as my oak floorboards.

Nothing has ever ruined a post-bath relaxation high faster. I no longer felt all clean, and frankly, my newly-scrubbed feet felt pretty violated.

To add insult to injury, I had LITERALLY only just forgiven the cats for weeing on my new sofa (apparently they feel the need to punish me when I go away on work trips).

I’m attempting to think of a suitable punishment, and may have to resort to publicly shaming them on social media.