Maybe that's an exaggeration. But, I can't seem to spell today, and against my better judgment, I have begun sentences on at least two occasions with conjunctions. It just looks sloppy.
We're going to blame all of this on the onset of what seems to be "The Worst Cold in the History of Man." Seriously, dating back to caveman days, nothing has come close to this virus-run-rampant. Sparing you the gory, mucousy details, I can tell you definitively to stay the eff away. Sidebar: I hate it when people call it the "crud." That is one of my hundreds of pet peeves. Although, it does seem that it adequately describes my current condition; it just reminds me of middle-aged Southern women that paint their too-long nails red and wear too much expensive jewelry and keep their hair styled (not at all in the endearing way you most likely have dreamt up).
I hate to write such a poo poo post, but I need you all to feel sorry for me. I won't settle for less. I want you all bringing me get-well fixes and praying for me over candles. Because (there I go again), Jer is taking me on a VD holiday overnight trip. I'm not one hundred percent sure, because I'm not a guy, but I really think he would rather make out with one of those East Tennessee bears than a mucousy mother of his only child. 1.)He runs the risk of becoming sick., 2.)It's just not very sexy.
Sexy is what I always try to be but fail at miserably. I really don't try as hard as I should, and it's so tragic. Maybe I take for granted that the fire and passion and other Harlequin words are still there in our marriage. Maybe after almost eight years, it will always be there? That's naive. I'm naive. Maybe subconsciously, by the grace of God, I work on it. Something's working.
I'll tell you what's not working properly: my nose, my trachea, my eyes. I remember Amanda singing, "Dr., my eyes have seen the years...."
Oh my poor snotty baby..........Well Just take lotsa boogey rags..and I am sure Jeremy won't mind the romantic honking sounds that come that come from your pretty face........I love you Sweety........Mom ..PS.."Honk if your in Love"
ReplyDeleteHaha, why in the hell did I start singing that song. I wish I remembered what we were drinking; it was something we stole from my parents. The dumbest part was that we took pictures of ourselves holding the bottles and then my mother saw them. I talked her down though.
ReplyDeleteWas that the night of the infamous mustard incident?
Oh I remember the mustard incident! That's one of my favorite stories ever. You had to draw on a bikini top with that mustard...it was the kind you dip out with a knife. The next morning Skip was eating it on his sausage biscuit.
ReplyDeleteWe had us some nice weekend sleep-overs.
Southern Comfort. It was always Southern Comfort. I've never stopped being humiliated about the mustard that Skip would use on his biscuit.
ReplyDelete