Monday.

I must admit, I’m in the majority of the public population which let out a groan anytime that word is uttered. If you guys are the small majority which have a pep in your step today? Well- please leave me alone until I can suck down some coffee and prepare for your cheeriness.

We had storms last night which seem to be a continual reminder of, “What in the world am I doing back here!?! I’m CRAZY.”

That’s sort of how the night goes- even when it rains here.

Living in Oklahoma is a little irritating 6 months out of the year. Anytime there’s a rain cloud, a raindrop, or a bit of a cool breeze on a hot day- you tend to freak out a bit.

You begin looking around to see if a wall cloud is forming, if your “safe place” is ready, and checking on your portable radio and flash lights.

What am I doing here!?!

The news channels don’t make you feel any better.

“Well folks- it’s awful outside. In fact- I’m pretty sure the sky is falling,” they say.

That doesn’t help someone like me- who freaks out at any sign of a storm.

Oh- and Will LOVES when it’s bad out because he has to deal with me freaking out and being absolutely unreasonable.

“We need to pull the mattress off the spare bed and be ready to hide under it!”

Yeah- I pretty much drive him insane.

I become like a wilty flower that needs a super hero to rescue her. Poor guy.

It’s like this whole “thing” with us. I truly drive him crazy.

I will say- although Kuwait was miserably hot- there was no weather.

I miss no weather.

So I’m enduring my first full spring back in America in quite a few years and have decided I hate it.

I love rain.

But you can’t simply “love rain” in Oklahoma because there’s no such thing as rain. It’s wrapped around a wall cloud or swirling winds.

Ugh.

So- although I’m not a big Monday fan. I love Mondays way more than last night’s storms- so I guess you could say Mondays don’t seem so bad?

Sure- we’ll go with that.

Now leave me alone. I need a few more cups first. 

I really want to sit down and tell you guys about the slave driver of a gym Nazi I worked out with Sunday.

She kicked my…

well…

you know.

“How in the HELL did I get this GIANT purple and red bruise on my inner thigh!?”

I have no clue.

Oh- that’s right-

It was probably when she stepped on my leg and told me I sucked and “You CAN do 40 more lunges or I’ll cut you!”

Yeah…

I think it was that.

Anyway- I want to tell you about the Gym Nazi but I can’t.

Apparently marriage is about sharing everything.

The last Little Debbie Nutty Bar,

the living room TV,

the last Little Debbie Nutty Bar (crap. I already said that one...).

Well apparently now I also have to share our computer from 9-10 pm.

That’s right- Willy Boy is cutting into my blogging time. My gym Nazi storytelling time. My unwinding time.

Long story short- we’re having DVR issues (gasp!) so we can’t tape and instead have to watch a show on fox.com tonight “that simply can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Doesn’t he understand my need to blog?

A GIANT PURPLEY-RED BRUISE.

ON MY INNER THIGH.

The people need to know!

THIS GIRL IS A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT.

Sigh… he just doesn’t get it.

So- I’m off to share now- although I really don’t recall this computer crap being anywhere in our vows.

Here’s to healing- and a mediocre, not so great workout tomorrow.

<3

“I should probably get a hepatitis shot,” I thought to myself as I carelessly used an unlined public toilet for the fourth time yesterday.

I’m generally more careful, however it had been a long day. A really long day. I woke at 3:30 morning in order to shower, get dressed (complete with high heels), compile and condense my crap (unsuccessfully) and leave the house by 4:45.

I had checked in, gotten through security, and found my gate all before 5:30. I was in the air by 6:00.

I consider that a fairly busy morning. And early. A really early morning too. But who cared- it was a day trip. No big deal.

We had a fairly slow paced morning with a jam packed afternoon. We arrived, enjoyed a cup of coffee to awaken our tired brains, and prepared for the day ahead.

The coffee worked- but only for so long.

At least it was just a day trip.

By the time my meeting started (at 2:00 that afternoon), I was sleepy. Not only that- but seriously, what was I thinking with wearing these high heels!? Thank God it was just a day trip- and almost over.

The meeting went well and was valuable- but by the time it was over I was ready to drive like Mark Martin all the way to the airport to be home to see Will-

And sleep-

And most of all, get out of these freaking heels.

We arrived at the airport, got through security- you know the normal stuff.

We found our gate and also found a mob crowded around the little check-in counter.

“Hmm- this doesn’t look normal…” I thought to myself.

Perhaps I had finally tempted fate long enough had actually contracted some strange hallucinatory disease from all my careless bathroom use during the day- and this was all just a mirage.

It wasn’t.

Damn.

You know- because the reality of a mob is so much worse than a communicable disease.

It appeared storms in Dallas had caused several delays and even cancelations. As we looked on the screen we noticed our flight to Dallas had been delayed two hours. Instead of our lovely 6:30 we were now pushed back past 8:30.

At this point you try to settle in and began the lion-like hunt for an available outlet for your laptop.

Think National Geographic channel- cheetahs chasing the little gazelles.

Thankfully this cheetah was quick enough to secure an outlet to check much needed email. Hunger inevitably kicked in, and I gave up my post to eat. When I had finished, my flight had been delayed almost another hour. With each delay a call was made to Will- who was going to pick me up and take me home.

Home to my own bed.

And no high heels.

Did I mention I had been in them for 15 hours in heels at that point?

Heels and an extra huge purse.

Heels and an extra huge purse and an extra huge laptop bag.

After all- IT WAS JUST A FREAKING DAY TRIP.

Finally- 9:15. Everything looked good. Our flight from Dallas to Oklahoma was going to be tight, but we had about 15 minutes to get off and run to our gate before the plane left. We felt confident we could do it- with my heels in my hand, of course.

We arrived in Dallas right on time- 15 minutes to spare.

Thankfully.

“Okay- so it’s no big deal. I’m only a few hours behind schedule. Willy will be waiting for me at 11:30 and we’ll go home and I’ll sleep in an extra hour- rest my feet- and go to work. This will be fine.”

Only we sat on the plane. And sat. And sat a little longer.

Just when I got to the point in which my left eye began to twitch uncontrollably, the captain informed us there was no gate ready for us and we were going to have to wait a little while.

…

So I sent a text to my colleague who had made the earlier Dallas flight and was already in the airport waiting for the Oklahoma flight. I wanted to see if she thought we would be able to make it, or if it was simply too late.

“You’ll make it,” she said.

Thankfully.

I figured with all the delays it would be okay.

“Just a little longer, Britt, and you’ll be out of your heels and in bed, fighting with the dogs for space.”

We finally got to the gate- I began getting into sprint mode. We got to the gate and waited. And waited. And waited.

My eye began to twitch again.

The captain informed us that although we were at our gate we had to wait on an attendant to open the doors-

Or some crap like that.

I didn’t care. It meant that the chances of my cramped calves getting out of these heels and into my own bed were getting slimmer each second that ticked away on that plane.

It meant I was going to spend the night either driving all the way home to Oklahoma or in some skuzzy hotel.

It meant this was no longer just a day trip.

I could only hope something was delaying the plane to Oklahoma so that we could make it in time.

But that would be normal and predictable- and why in the world would I want that, right?

So of course I missed my flight.

By the time we got off the plane we were met by another mob.

Another mob that had missed their flights too.

And must have been wearing heels for 15 hours too, because they were super grumpy.

I mean, sure I was tired, my back was seriously aching from all the stupid weight I had towed with me. My calves? Pretty much numb at that point. My feet were permanently shaped in triangles to mold to my stupid pointy heels.

Yet somehow I wasn’t in an awful mood.

Okay- I was.

I think I said “What the hell” or something like that- but I didn’t get too mad. I don’t think I even cussed- which I consider a success in this circumstance.

I know-I’m such a classy lady.

So we stood in line with the mob to see what to do next. The airline put us up in a hotel because of the delay.

So much for my little easy day trip.

“At least we get another day of per diem!” my colleague said enthusiastically.

“Really? ’At least we get another day of per diem!’” I said mockingly to myself. “HOW LOVELY! Because I’m SO excited about $30 when I’m going to need $30,000 to buy prosthetic calves after wearing these heels all day!”

Men seriously have no concept of what it’s like being a woman.

Seriously.

Anyway, we loaded up and began the trip to our hotel.

The whole way there I began to watch myself begin to panic internally.

It finally hit me.

I’m.spending.the.night.

In these clothes I’ve worn since like 4:00 this morning.

I had no toothbrush.

No mascara.

Gasp! No deodorant!

And let’s face it- I’m a sweater.

Please- please just swallow me into the ground now.

There’s something interesting that seems to happen to you once you realize that your simple little day trip is going to turn into an overnight stay. A stay in which you’ve carelessly not planned for.

(um-sidebar! Okay so I’ve flown a million times and have never ever experienced any issues. So why, WHY would a simple day trip cause me problems, I thought to myself, right!?)

Your whole mind begins to turn to mush.

Your frame of reference becomes totally distorted and you have no good solid compass between what’s socially acceptable and entirely ridiculous.

“Okay- so do I take off my make up, or leave it on?

What am I going to do about not having deodorant? This is going to be bad on so many levels.

Do I stay in my undies? Try to wash them? Go commando?

Do I saturate my shirt in perfume to freshen it up?”

Suddenly these really easy everyday hygiene decisions become little crises.

What do I do!? What is the proper etiquette? This shouldn’t be that hard. Why is this so hard!?

The truth is that it’s hard because you’re only planning for a day trip!

Why wasn’t I prepared? Sigh…

So we got to the hotel late. I have no idea when, but I know it was after 11:00 and I could barely walk. I got my room key, tried to do a little work- which turned out to be fruitless because I was totally spent-and went to bed.

I got up at 5:30 this morning, got fully dressed in my work attire (except for the shoes. I went barefoot and hoped for the best) and went down to the lobby to try to pillage for at the very least toothpaste.

Turns out a lot of idiots are like me and don’t plan ahead. I scored toothpaste, a toothbrush, and- and- deodorant!

Men’s deodorant.

Men’s deodorant without antiperspirant.

But hey- who cares- it’s better than nothing, right?

I opted to shower and wash my face. I took my make up off but I didn’t remove my mascara.

I got ready.

I looked like death.

I had lipstick.

I remember a friend saying that all you really needed on an extremely ugly and off day was lipstick. That would make it all better.

She is full of crap.

I had a greasy complimentary breakfast and was finally, finally on my way home.

I arrived home this morning at about 10:30. I went home, freshened up a little, changed clothes, PUT ON FLATS, and went to work.

I was swamped, but hey- the problems I faced at work today seemed like a piece of cake compared to the whole dilemma of proper 2nd day undie etiquette.

It feels incredible to be at home. I’m so ready to slip into my own sheets tonight.

I no longer believe in day trips, will always be prepared, and am officially retired from business travel. At least for a while anyway.

<3

So Will and I did some hanging this weekend.

I’m fully convinced we could never (never EVER) have a “fixer upper.”

In order to maintain a healthy marriage, we will only be able to buy new homes.

I’m not kidding.

I don’t think I’m the only married woman who has experienced the strife of home project fights with their spouse- right?

What is it about trying to do a home project together that seriously brings out the worst in both parties?

I seriously need a grant to study this stuff.

I have this mirror I got ages ago- when we were first married. We’ve been needing to hang it up for months now and have just been putting it off-

probably because we already know how seriously grumpy we get when having to embark on such efforts.

I know as married people we should be all googly eyed and adoring and supportive.

“Oh here, sweetie! Let me hand you that hammer. You look a little dry- would you like some lemonade?”

But the reality is that we’re normal. Very normal.

And screw lemonade.

We recognize that stuff like this only ends up in ridiculous arguments and therefore avoid such tasks at all costs.

Because we love each other- I’m willing to have bare walls.

Sure, we’ll hang a few things throughout the course of the year- but I’m always sure to try to space them out so as to avoid too much “Home Depot Tension” around our place.

I know I’ve said this like a MILLION times on my blog- but Will and I would seriously seriously end up in major marital trouble if we ever had to go on The Amazing Race.

It’s not that we don’t love each other- we so, so do.

It’s not that we can’t work together- we really, really can.

There are just a few certain things we don’t do well- and home improvement projects are one of those certain things (and for some reason I tend to liken The Amazing Race to one super giant home improvement project).

We literally spent our entire Saturday attempting to hang this mirror.

“You’re not helping at all!”

“You’re not telling me what to do!”

“For the thousandth time- will you PLEASE hand me the freaking hammer!!?”

“Is the mirror crooked?”

“I already told you- I don’t have a good eye for these things!”

“Yes you do- is the mirror crooked?!”

“Um, no? It looks great...”

20 minutes later and 4 holes in the wall…

“The mirror is crooked! You said it looked great!”

...

Yes, it was quite a day.

I hate the grumpiness it causes, but am always happy with the results.

Now- if there’s only a way to get rid of the grumpiness and move straight to the results… that would be great.

I still have so many bare walls in our house, and I’m afraid there’s lots more hanging in our future. Hopefully we’ll start to be pros at this stuff.

And if not-

at least we have lots of other wonderful happy things that bind us together and strengthen our love.

Too bad home improvement projects aren’t one of those things- but I guess that’s why God invented The Doghouse.

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Why oh why do I feel compelled to get totally crazy and go sing karoke? I HAVE NO IDEA! Did you guys know aside from bad weather singing is my biggest fear ever?

So- we both know I’d never get my butt up on stage and sing. But if I did, right now and this very second I would sing this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRG55KnZkqc

Seriously- stop me. I’m talking like a maniac.

Yet another confirmation that wine in boxed form is evil. 

For many years now I have relied upon this old wives tale advice for how to absolutely avoid crying at the most inopportune times.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve shared this fun fact with you on more than one occasion.

When you think you’re going to cry during a time in which you really, really shouldn’t (ie:work, in front of in-laws, work) all you have to do is squeeze your butt together really, really hard and you’ll be totally fine and won’t cry.

I relied on this advice for many years- after all, it was Amber V.’s mom who said it- and she was a nurse.

Which apparently means she knows everything regarding one’s derriere and the correlation of not crying.

Right?

Well, my friend, I’m here to tell you that Amber V’s mom is wrong.

I’ve really tried to psych myself into believing this was good advice- after all, there had been times in which it did work- however I think it was way more of a mental thing and way less of a squeezing thing.

I’m here to tell you guys that I’m no longer convinced this is a sure fire way to avoid looking like a freaking idiot in front of others.

...

Although-

now that I think of it- “The Squeeze” pretty much makes you look like a freaking idiot too.

I feel as though I need to inform you guys that perhaps my initial analysis is incorrect and I might have made my first mistake ever (ha ha).

I would recommend the nail digging tactic (in which you dig your nails into your skin as hard as you possibly can almost to the point of blood so that instead of wanting to cry all you can think about is whether you’re hemmoraging all over yourself)- however after this week I must confirm this is not always a reliable tactic either.

So, I fear I’m back to square one. I rarely have to call upon these useful tricks, but now that they have been tested throughout the course of my lifetime (and most recently this week) I must say that I believe we’re back to square one.

I guess if all else fails you could try a combination of both?

Now THAT would be funny to watch.

I suppose now I will simply resort to the old Picture Them Naked Trick.

Um- actually… I’m thinking about that and- no.

There’s no way I could do that without throwing up.

How about the Picturing Them in a Chicken Suit Trick?

Do you think that’s more solid?

Definitely. Anytime you’re talking about someone in a chicken suit-that’s solid conversation.

Okay so I give up. I just thought I’d pass on some useful (ha ha. Useful. I’m hilarious.) information if you’re ever caught in an uncomfortable bind.

Plus I needed to lighten my mood a bit. I’ve been way.too.serious. this week.

And who likes serious?

(Aside from our parents of course. And maybe the person doing my taxes...)

No one!

Should you have a PSA of your own, feel free to leave it in the Share The Love section.

That is all.

You may now go back to your regularly scheduled Thursday night. 

There are a few things in life I don’t joke around with.

Food is one of them.

When it comes to sharing dessert?

You’re so on your own.

Envision a wild lion preying on an innocent gazelle. When I eat and/or share a dessert it tends to be a little Animal Planetish. Full of raw carnage and inappropriateness.

Oh- and if you’re not careful I might accidentally spear you with my fork.

All in good fun, of course.

So I was quite surprised today when my dear husband- who has been speared and gorged out of many a dessert in our marriage- “accidentally” ate our last box of Thin Mints.

Girl Scout Thin Mints.

Girl Scout Thin Mints that are sold only once a year Thin Mints.

And proceeded to pretend as though it was truly an accident.

“I forgot we were going to share the last box! Honest!”

Honest!?

HONEST?

HA! I invented the “honest” ploy! Trust me- that’s the oldest one in the book!

Not only that. but he also opened our last box of Tagalongs and already ate an entire row.

Thank God I was able to salvage the rest.

There are some things I take very seriously.

Desserts are one of them.

My advice to Will?

Sleep with one eye open, dear. There are few things that push me over the edge-

and Thin Mints are one of them. 

Once upon a time in a land far far away-

we’ll call this land Happyville-

Two kindhearted people- Bill and Whitney- met, fell in love, and decided to get married and call it a day in a small village outside the heart of Happyville.

Life was good.

Soon after getting settled Bill and Whitney decided their life was missing something. Sure it was swell and loads of good times, but something still seemed lacking.

So Bill and Whitney decided it was time to bring two little precious babies into their life, Roz and Suzy.

Roz and Suzy added an element of fun and surprise into Bill and Whitney’s life. It was just what they needed.

Life continued to tick on in the world of Happyville, and Bill and Whitney continued to enjoy their time with each other as well as Roz and Suzy.

Before they knew it two years had passed from the time they welcomed their little babies into their family. They were full grown and closer to Bill and Whitney more than ever.

Life was good.

One day, however, Bill looked at his wife and said, “Whitney, I think our family is still missing something.”

“You really think so?” she questioned. After all- they had two beautiful children, a house outside of Happyville, and season tickets to the Boomers - their favorite soccer team.

“What could possibly be missing?” she thought.

“I feel like our family needs to grow just a little more. I’ve always wanted two bigger babies- big beastly ones that play outside in the grass and protect our little house from the Ogres of Stillwater.”

Whitney was skeptical. Very skeptical. She was happy with her little life with Bill, Roz, and Suzy. Was there really need to grow it any larger?

With big beastly babies- at that?

Bill was persistent, and Whitney finally decided beastly outside babies couldn’t be all bad. Perhaps she would grow to love them as much as Roz and Suzy.

So- Bill and Whitney decided it was time to add to their little family, and so it was.

Betty and Jocky joined the family as the beautiful outside beastly babies Bill had always hoped for.

Once again life was good.

Whitney was not accustomed to large outside beastly babies, and so it took some warming up to them day-by-day. She soon began to grow fond of them, even volunteering to feed and walk them.

However, things would take a slight turn for the worse.

One day when Whitney arrived home she had a surprise at her door- the Happyville village Knights of Safety!

Apparently Betty and Jocky were being especially beastly and obnoxious that day- causing a disturbance among the other villagers. Whitney was terribly embarrassed for causing such a raucous and began to contemplate whether adding to her perfect little family was a wise decision.

Bill reassured her that Betty and Jocky were still baby beasts and as they began to grow things would get better. This seemed to easy Whitney’s mind-

and life was good.

Days and weeks went on and things seemed to return to normal. No surprise knocks on the door- which was good. However, Betty and Jocky began to grow

and grow

and grow.

They grew into giants- far taller than any of the Ogres of Stillwater Whitney had ever seen!

With their new bodies came new behaviors-behaviors with Bill and Whitney were not accustomed. Roz and Suzy never behaved in such a manner so it was very new.

Jocky and Betty would sleep all day and play all night- growling and howling and barking until the wee hours of the morning. Bill spent many nights back and forth between bed and the couch making sure he quiet them at a moment’s notice to ensure the village Knights of Safety would not arrive at their house. Bill and Whitney always seemed to be tired.

“These outside beasts were not supposed to be so difficult!” they thought to themselves.

Jocky and Betty soon began to eat everything in sight as well- Bill’s shoes which he accidentally left outside, the spout covers, grass, doggie poo… you name it- they ate it.

They also destroyed the yard. Remnants of chewed toys, trash, and junk were spread throughout the entire area. Ugly dirt holes took the place of pretty, green lush grass. Whitney was embarrassed of what she called her “White Trash Backyard.” It was awful. Trashy, holey, muddy, and yucky. Totally unfit for the yards in Happyville.

Although awkward and obnoxious puppies, Bill and Whitney continued to love them, slowing training them good behavior and rewarding their good efforts.

However, one night Jocky and Betty crossed the line.

They interrupted Bill’s sattelite feed- making it impossible to watch his Boomer games.

Bill awoke to a strange crunching noise. He went to the outside door and screamed in horror. Betty and Jocky had chewed the entire cable in half, rendering the TV completely useless.

In their fun they destroyed Bill’s most favorite thing in the whole world- his TV box.

Whitney hadn’t seen Bill so down since the time the Boomers made it to the Big Game and lost to Crocodiles.

Bill was down in the dumps.

Whitney inspired him to work on the wires- to see if it would be possible to have some TV.

Bill reluctantly gave it a shot.

As it turned out- Bill and Whitney still had TV access but no recording capability-

which was still bad but far better than initially thought.

Bill and Whitney put their heads together and built a protective barrier around the remaining cords- which “enhanced” the already trashy looking yard.

And in some strange way- Jocky and Betty seemed to know they were grounded- very, very grounded and began to be a little less beastly and a little more mannerly.

Bill and Whitney continued to work on good behavior- and Jocky and Betty began to react in such a way.

Not always-

but sometimes.

At this point- during the “puppydom” period- Bill and Whitney lived for sometimes.

Bill and Whitney continued to grow their affections for Jocky and Betty-

but agreed that they would not need any more beasts- outside or inside for a long, looong time.

Life was once again good in their little Happyville village existence-

and Bill, Whitney, Roz, Suzy, Jocky, and Betty lived happily-

which occassional bumps in the road-

but nonetheless happily.

<3

I spent a portion of my afternoon huddled with my coworkers in the break room.

Waiting for the tornado sirens to stop blaring their screams of terror.

Just two weeks ago I was stuck inside my house due to an ice storm,

and today it was 70 degrees and our state endured multiple tornadic storms.

Tornadoes!

In February!!

Why- why in the world would I live here?

I have a feeling you’ll be hearing me say that a lot this spring.

Suddenly missing the hellish heat of weatherless Kuwait…

My company encourages me to come to work sick.

It’s quite unfortunate, actually.

See, we’re granted “X” amount of general leave hours each year. There’s no special set days off for being sick, it’s all lumped into one “general leave” pool of days. So- if you take a sick day you’re actually losing a vacation day.

I call this The No Fun Zone.

You see, I’d rather come to work with mucous running uncontrollably out of my left nostril, hacking up loogies (ha ha- how do you spell “loogies??”) the size of a Christmas ham, and sneezing on every open surface available than use one of my general leave days to call in sick.

My coworkers love me.

Okay- I’ll be honest- I’m not fond of people who come to work sick either. 

My left eye begins to twitch at the thought of Mr. Accountant handing me damp papers full of remnants of his last sneeze. 

“GO HOME!! YOU’RE INFECTING THE ENTIRE OFFICE!” I want to yell.

However, I can sort of empathize with Mr. Accountant, because really- who wants to blow a vacation day when you’re sick!? You want to blow a vacation day when you’re on-

VACATION.

What an idea, right?

So- I have become the person I hate.

The come-to-work-sick-employee.

Shudder.

The truth is- most of us are the come-to-work-sick-employees. It’s like a race to see who can get rid of their ailments the fastest.

It’s the “If I’m miserable, I’m bringing everyone down with me” mentality.

Like a game.

I’m not kidding.

“Oh hi Jane! How are you (hack, hack, hack)?”

Two days later and Jane is down with a cold and Sam has made a full recovery.

I’ve found wet, snotty tissues “misplaced” on my desk the other day.

HA- I know what you’re trying to do Mr. Finance! You’re trying to bring me down!

You’re trying to hold me back.

You’re trying to stick it to the (wo)MAN!

I’m on to you- I see how you play.

Work is no longer just about getting the job done.

It’s about survival.

Survival I say!

It’s as though we’re being broadcast on Animal Planet and the terrifying mother Cheetah Cold Virus Middle Manager is hunting for her helpless gazelle Administrative Assistant.

It’s a perpetual relay race of Passing The Cold.

And sadly- I lost.

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that donut randomly lying on my desk.

That was a rookie mistake!

Anyway…

Because I took 3 weeks off for the cruise in August I’m in mega (I mean MEGA) vacation debt. I think it will be like 5 years before I’m back to “0” and finally accruing general leave hours again. However, thankfully I was able to purchase 4 days this year- you know just incase I catch a cold want to leave the state of Oklahoma at some point this year.

4 days.

FOUR DAYS.

For the entire year.

The entire year.

So-

Unfortunately I caught the aforementioned (and stricken) cold.

Because of The Random Donut

HOWEVER-

I’ll be darned (yes- that’s right DARNED) if I’m going to use one of my purchased days off to recover.

So I’ve been snotting, and hacking, and choking all over myself (and anyone in a 7 foot radius). I’ve had tears streaming down my face in attempts to hold back coughing fits. I sound like Death and/or Satan when I speak because my voice is so low and throaty and sickly and deathly.

I’m also a JOY to be around.

Really- I am.

I’ve tried my best to avoid what I call the Damp Paper Handoff as mentioned earlier. I mean- you gotta set limits, right? While I may have lost this maniacal game of Pass The Cold- I honestly have no desire to bring anyone down with me.

With my luck I’d get it right back and end up using the last of my vacation days shaking on my couch in a feverish stupor.

Nice.

So- here’s to a speedy recovery-

and a nice, long, four day vacation somewhere fun.

Or not…

Tag- you’re it!