Years ago, before moving into a house with my husband and four children (when they were small), I contacted Tom, an interior designer. This friend with a fancy house had recommended him. Tom came by, took one look at the house and told me, “You don’t need me. You need all the guys who do work behind the walls.”

BUT dear Tom’s wisdom did not end there. Oh no. From Tom I gained the beautiful permission to throw your own pity party. You heard right. Pity party.

Having a bad day? Feeling blue and unappreciated? Feeling crummy but you know you shouldn’t?

WHO SAID?

Go ahead. Feel sorry for yourself. Sure there are people a lot worse off. Sure you’ve had worse days (maybe). Sure you know this is WRONG.

GO AHEAD. Do it anyway. Bask in your own self-pity.

I’d phone Tom and tell him about some woe or another. He’d ask, “Did you have a pity party? You really don’t want to pass up the chance, you know.” Right?