So Will has a pair of pants he uses to do stuff around the house in. I call them “work pants.”

Today we discovered they had a small hole in the crotch- and Will asked me to “fix them.”

Fix them.

As if I ran around the house in a big fluffy skirt and pearls and had breakfast prepared at 6:00 on the dot each morning. Perfectly prepared eggs over easy- never too runny.

Sigh.

The truth is that I’m no Donna Reed.

Times are tough these days in America and I really thought it would be a good idea to help stretch these work pants- so I went to Walmart today in hopes of finding a sewing kit.

Only Walmart- the place that has “everything-” did not have a sewing kit.

So I opted for a needle and thread and a prayer that all would work out.

But we’ll get to that part soon.

So I began aimlessly threading my needle, wandering in and out of the fabric.

Um- it pretty much looked like a three year old hacked away at it. Remember those yarn paper weaving arts and crafts things you used to make?

It looked like that.

You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?

Trust me. That means it was bad.

It was at that moment- when I realized I sucked and was cutting the yarn and hopelessly pulling it out- that it hit me.

I think as a whole we’re not nearly as domestic and self sufficent as we used to be.

I mean think about it- I freaking slapped pudding into a pre-made pie crust and topped it with cool whip and called it a pie.

AND

AND

I even complained about not being able to use INSTANT pudding.

Wow. How said is that!?

Sure- it technically is a “pie"- but seriously? That’s no pie.

I can barely sew a button. I will if I’m in a pinch, but the truth is that I have like 3 items of clothing that I plan on taking to a seamstress simply to sew.on.a.freaking.button! Seriously- I suck.

Do you guys realize that basic sewing used to be a household MUST like a decade ago? It’s so crazy to me to think how much things have changed over the years. It seems like are a lot of these sort of things in which were very common just a couple decades ago but are not as widely practice these days. Um- like making our husbands breakfast every morning, or stitching a dime size hole for crying out loud!

Yes- I realize it’s because we’re “out there” in the world, making a difference, changing the world, being amazing career womans AND wives and mothers. I get it.

I mean- sure I realize I suck for not being able to sew my husband’s pants, but the truth is that I’m in good company. I’d say there’s quite a few of us out there that don’t “make” our pies.

We hide dirty dishes in our oven when unexpected company comes because (gasp) there are times in which our house isn’t spotless.

We’re no Donna Reeds.

I’ll admit, I felt a little discouraged tonight when I couldn’t simply fix a tiny hole in Will’s pants. I should be able to do that! I should be capable of weaving a piece of freaking thread neatly in and out of a piece of thin cloth and taking care of my family! How hard can this possibly be!? Apparently pretty tough.

So I’m sitting here throwing myself a pity party because I’m not Donna Reed.

And I know you guys may think less of me-

but I want to be a Donna Reed.

There. I said it.

I want to wear high heels and make breakfast for Will and never sweat when I’m cleaning the oven. I want to be able to freaking sew.a.hole. for crying out loud!

more pity partying

So here’s what I’m thinking.

There are definitely things I can work on to improve my household. Small things.

The big things- you know- the seriously HUGE crisis things like sewing a pair of pants (ha ha)- I figure I’ll handle one case at a time.

...

Actually.

Guys-

maybe I am becoming a little bit of Donna Reed.

I mean- it’s 2009.

I can’t sew my husband’s pants.

I admit it.

However I know exactly where to go to get it fixed the right way. The first time.

I call that being smart. And resourceful.

Not only that- but I mean, while someone else is doing what they’re good at, I can work on doing something marvelous!

Like baking a real pie,

or- you know, painting my nails…

We’re living in a different time and Donna Reed is evolving. I guess it’s not about living our life like they did in the 50s. It’s about living smart in Donna Reed fashion, but also enjoying the modern technologies time has afforded us and combining the two into greatness!

So, although I can’t sew my poor husband’s pants, I can make a mean pie. And wear high heels. And paint my nails. And dial the pizza guy.

Genius.

xo,

The New Donna Reed

Will swears that cook and serve pudding is far superior than instant.

I totally disagree. The film situation with cook and serve alone is enough to deter me from standing over a stove stirring constantly for 12 minutes waiting for the freaking crap to boil.

Oh wait.

Standing over a stove stirring constantly for 12 minutes waiting for the freaking crap to boil is enough to deter me from cook and serve pudding.

Will has been begging for me to make some cook and serve pudding for a couple weeks now.

This in and of itself is alarming to me. Who begs their wife to make them cook and serve pudding?

No really. Who does that? An old family recipe layer cake made from scratch with homemade frosting I can understand. Cook and serve pudding? Really?

Anyway, because I try to be a good wife I made Will cook and serve pudding tonight- and not only that, but I put it in a crust.

Therefore can call it a “pie.”

Could I stretch and say I made a pie?

Um- probably not… All I did was stir (for a million minutes- watching that stupid freaking pudding threaten to burn the sides of the pan), and pour, and top with cool whip. That means I made it right? Ha, of course it does.

Between you and me? I could have made instant pudding and I doubt Will would have been able to tell the difference, although he swears up and down that he could. Who knows…

So I “made” our pie around 8:00 tonight and really want to have some. Only it takes 3 hours to set- which would put it at 11:00. Granted, it’s only a few minutes -and who knows? By the time I finish this post it very well could be 11- but it seems very random to me to eat dessert at 11.

Although- let’s face it- time means nothing to me when it comes to desserts. That’s crazy. It’s like saying vegetables are bad for you. Or hypercolor shirts are appropriate work attire. Um actually? I’m pretty sure hypercolor shirts are inappropriate at all times.Do they even make hypercolor anymore?

Sorry- getting distracted. Back to pie.

So I’m leaning towards eating a piece of pie and going straight to bed.

Because I’ve always heard that’s a GREAT idea (ha ha).

You know, for someone that “doesn’t think cook and serve pudding is all that great” I sure am staying up late to scarf it down, aren’t I?

Ooh- and you know what else?

After living in our house for only a year (actually- still less than a year) we finally decided to clean out our whirlpool jets and are going to try out the tub for the first time!

Oh- please be assured I’ve cleaned the tub many times before that- I just never ran the whirlpool and got the previous owner’s yuckys cleaned out.

Anyway- I think we’re going to eat pie and try out the whirlpool.

hmm- or try out the whirlpool and eat pie.

Ooh- OR have pie and then try out the whirlpool and then have pie again.

Okay just kidding. You have to have SOME limits right?

As you can see, my Saturday night has been out of control. But you guys know me well enough by now to know that’s the norm.

Hey guess what? It’s almost 11. I made it! I really made it! (ha ha. Wow. This is really sad).

Yay for cook and serve pie (I guess).

Have a good evening- and happy mother’s day to all my lovely blog friend mommies, and to my lovely mom as well.

<3

When P and I were in Olympia last year we saw something very interesting leading up to the stadium.

Cheater’s Row.

Cheaters Row was a whole entire line of statues of Olympians which- as you guessed it- were found to be cheating. They created a statue of these cheaters and on it displayed the person’s name, family’s name, and where they were from.

Everyone that was on their way to the stadium passed by these status and saw the shame these people brought to their towns.

What a disgrace for the cheater. Even today, hundreds of years later, remnants of Cheaters Row remain as a testament of those before us.

Cheater’s Row wasn’t placed outside of the stadium “just because it seemed like a good place to put these statues.” They were there on purpose. As a reminder. As a way to humiliate those who cheated. As a way for their name to be remembered- forever set in stone, both literal and figurative.

I know- YAWN. I’m killing you guys, right?

Sorry. I’ve just been thinking about Cheater’s Row a lot the last couple of days. It was not that long ago in which having your name tarnished was disgraceful and painful. It wasn’t long ago in which a person’s name meant something. When deals were made on handshakes, and when a honorable man said something and followed through.

Perhaps I’m romancing the days of old, but it just seems as though we don’t make people like we used to.

Nowadays we ("we" being used collectively as a societal whole) let TV teach our kids about God and right and wrong, school teach them about sex and politics, and their older friends about love, relationships, and doing the right (or wrong) thing.

What happened to our responsibility in society to um- do it ourselves as parents?

Yes, I realize I don’t have kids- but it doesn’t matter. I see a trend that is quite alarming and I feel it’s only going to get worse.

We raise kids to expect things- to feel as though they are owed everything and don’t have to work for things. We don’t punish criminals, which teaches our kids that really? there aren’t things such as consequences, and even if there are there’s always a loophole.

I know- you guys are totally rolling your eyes now and want to ship your kids off to my house so I can really try this parenting thing out since I sound so self righteous.

I know- I’m talking all crazy. The truth is that I’m just blowing off some steam.

Okay-

a LOT of steam.

Long story short Will and I were innocently driving home Friday night, minding our own business, and some moronic kids nailed a rock right into our truck. No reason. No justification. “They’re just kids.”

Ha- kids old enough to know better.

It’s a whole long story, but basically the father came off as this nice guy- and a “man of his word” and was going to take care of the problem, only he has conveniently been unreachable since the incident happened. We finally got a hold of him today and “it wasn’t my kid- it’s not my problem.”

Like I said- it’s a long story.

The jist of the story is- what are you teaching your kids? I’m thinking that you’re teaching them it’s okay to violate someone’s property and not have to pay any consequences. 

We did absolutely nothing wrong. We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, and somehow the kid comes out as totally innocent and the father- a grown man-refuses to take responsibility for what happened on his property. In fact, he even changed his story and said that it wasn’t a rock- it was a hackey sack. Um, the dent and chipped paint on our truck suggests otherwise. Where is the accountability?

What happened to manning up? It’s sounds more like Will and I have a parent problem on our hands instead of a kid problem.

Can we please start making people take moron tests before we allow them to breed?

Please?

Sorry to vent. I just needed to unload somewhere- and this seems to be the lucky venue. I don’t feel like getting into the details of the story- I just needed to run my mouth about ridiculous things I have no business sharing.

I know you guys love that too (ha).

I guess I just come from a different school of thought than this guy. I probably would have fit in with society just fine a hundred years ago, and I’m sure you would too.

Only- could we please make sure we brought lip gloss, cheesecake, and iPods with us? That’s not too much to ask, right?

Forgive me friends for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last confession.

Because it’s been a while, I will plunge deep into my heart and provide you with quality, meaningful confessions.

Like this one:

1. My husband parks my car in the garage every.single.day.

No seriously- I swear.

I know.

Pathetic.

So here’s the whole back story.

When I was 16 I got a car and- like all 16 year olds- was very eager to drive and be TOTALLY responsible with it.

So the thing with my car was that it was really long and it barely fit in the garage. In fact, there were many times in which the garage door lightly smudged the back of my car. Not only that, but we had a two car garage growing up so it was a really tight squeeze fitting the car next to the big purple minivan. So- long story (somewhat) short- my parents parked the car in the garage for me. Yes, I was TOTALLY responsibile- but why risk me doing something stupid, right?

Right.

So- one night I was being TOTALLY responsible and coming home late. Instead of calling my parents and telling them that not only was I late, but I also needed the car put in the garage, I opted to be the “good” and helpful daughter and park the car myself.

As I pulled the car in the rear right side of my car let out a painful cry of torture-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

I couldn’t stop! I kept driving, thinking it would be better.

It was worse.

Definitely worse.

I totally dented in the side big time. Plus the paint was destroyed.

Good job kid.

I know.

Anyway- ever since that I’ve been very leery of parking in tight spaces. Mostly because I suck. Mostly also because I have this reoccurring nightmare of doing something terribly stupid again.

So anyway, since we have the truck now it goes in the big part of the garage and we park my car in the third garage door, which is a tight squeeze (ahem- for me- not for anyone else, I’m sure).

Will knows this awful and totally embarrassing garage story, and although it’s been 10 freaking years, he still doesn’t trust me with “baby #2” (did you guys know that’s what he calls his car? I know- he’s crazy).

So there you go- I can’t park my own car in my garage. How’s that for a confession?

2. When it’s just me and Will eating at home I cover my baking dish in foil so I don’t have to wash the dish and instead just throw away the dirty foil.

Because I’m just that lazy. No other reason.

3.  Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed whenever I scoop ice cream (cookies and creme) for me and Will because “I’d rather he do it,” but the truth is that is that I totally love doing it because I always (always, always) give myself the giant pieces of cookies.

ha ha. I feel like I need to go to crunches after confessing that…

Anything you need to confess to lighten your load? 

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’m 26 years old and I still loathe buying tampons. You’d think that was something I would have grown out of- but, no.

I wonder why, too? I mean- I realize it’s no big deal. I must admit, though, I really love when you go for me.”

“Yeah- but I don’t.”

“I know- but like I said, I hate it. When you go people know you’re just being a wonderful husband. They know they’re not for you. When I go, however, it is very, very clear that those super duper sized tampons are for me. Ha- or it could also be the gallon of ice cream I buy with them. That probably gives it away too. I mean- it’s this whole thing! Do you get a cart for the tampons, or do you tromp around the whole Wal-mart holding them discretely by your side while you casually walk to the entire other side of the store for the ice cream? Do you-”

(cutting me off)

“Brittny- lately it seems like anytime you talk about things or tell me stories it’s like you’re blogging.”

“Nooo. You’re crazy. I just like to drone on about things.”

And then I hopped out of the truck and began my tampon/cookie dough mission (thinking all the while about telling you guys about standing in front of the cookie dough section holding a jumbo sized box of tampons).

Um- between you and me? After assessing the most recent stories I’ve told Will this week? Yeah, he’s right. I totally talk in blog.

A nearby community is holding their annual Woofstock event this weekend, and I’ve literally been excited for weeks.

Weeks.

Poor Will has had to hear me drone on and on about Woofstock this and that and how much fun it will be and “maybe we’ll meet some nice people.”

Only there is an underlying predicament which needs to be addressed:

Which dog(s) are we bringing to Woofstock?

Yes- it has become a “predicament.”

Sad, I know.

It’s like being Charlie from Willy Wonka and having a bright shiny golden ticket into a whole new world of amazement and perfection and dog utopia- but can only bring one dog.

What a toughie!

I would say we’d bring all 4- but are you kidding me!? Not only would Wil and I end up in marriage counseling from all the, “You’re letting the dogs walk YOU! Get ahold of them, Britter! How did you manage to let go of the leash!? Teddy has officially taken out the Woofie Snack Table!”

It would go something like that= and that’s just the way WE would behave. That doesn’t even count the way the dogs would behave.There’s just no way we could bring all four. It would be pandemonium and we would most certainly end up blacklisted from any furture Woof event.

So- I’m leaning towards taking one Big and one Little.

But who!?

Lucy would represent the “Littles,” but I’m not sure who will represent the Bigs.

Rocky is by far our best behaved dog. He is so loving and wants to please you and is very obedient. However, I’m apprehensive to bring him because of the fact that he’s so freaking gigantic and I don’t want to overload him with a million dogs to play with. He’d be hard to keep on a tight leash because he’s so strong- and although obedient, I know he would want to go play with the other dogs.

Teddy, however, is WAY terrible. We call her Marley because she’s so hyper and has been difficult to train. She’s most definitely our most beautiful dog, however, she’s just so darn hyper and jumpy that I know she would maul everyone in sight with her excited-ness.

It appears as though I’m analyzing my dogs for you guys:

a. Like they’re children

b. Like you freaking care

Trust me- I realize that both are ridiculous.

So- I’m leaning towards me carrying Lucy in a carrier while Will keeps Rocky on a leash- because he’s way more capable of maintaining a leash than I am.

Wow.

Listen to me.

I make fun of people like me.

Weeks, guys, weeks! That’s how long I’ve been talking about this weekend.

About an event- for dogs!

I seriously need to get out more.

Although I’m beginning to realize how ridiculous I sound about my Woofstock zealousness, I will most certainly post pictures for you all to share in our fun.

<3

I realize you don’t care what I had for lunch today or how nice people were to me yesterday but the truth is- I really feel like I need to post about the last few days in my life because I really want to remember them- and when you have a bad memory like me, it’s important you write everything down!

So Sunday was nice. Will’s parents showed up with a dozen roses for me, a homemade strawberry cake (with real crushed strawberries in it!), and my gift. It was so sweet. We also went out to Olive Garden for lunch. It was a nice Sunday.

From there the week continued to get better (okay- I realize we’re only mid-week...)

I’m not sure how long you’ve been reading, but if you’ve read since the Kuwait Days you know that most of the time I really, really hated my job (I’ve linked you to my “This Isn’t CTU” posts so you can take a walk down memory lane). Things were done so backwards. People were total unprofessional morons… it was tough. Moving back to America and working where I do now was such a giant shock. Like a tall glass of ice water with a squeeze of lime. Even after being here for almost a year I still have to pinch myself- and I always say, “Wow! It’s so weird working for a “real” company!”

It’s just so different.

So Monday I got to work and one of the ladies I work with on a regular basis (and was also the girl who was my secret pal) got me a Vanilla Frappuccino and a box of Crystal Light On the Go and wished me a “happy birthday week!” I thought that was so sweet.

Yesterday was so nice. Will surprised me with the I Love Lucy boxset (she’s so great) and Dunkin Donuts for breakfast.

I got to work and had this super duper cute bright pink box in my chair. I opened it up and there was the cutest Halmark Hoops and YoYo card. I’ve linked it here. You so have to check it out because it makes me laugh. What’s even funnier about it is that the guy that got it for me is gay. There was also the cutest Hoops and YoYo stuffed animal that talks and these really cute Hoops and YoYo sticky notes with funny sayings on it. It was the sweetest surprise.

Another coworker brought me a hilarious homemade card and breakfast for everyone (two pastries for me- on top of my donuts… wow… what a way to start off 26)

It was so thoughtful.

Then my “secret pal” coworker and boss surprised me with this giant coffee mug planter filled with gorgeous tulips! It was so sweet.

We went out to lunch and I ate more. Ugh. Fat.

I got back from lunch and there were more flowers on my desk! My parents and sister sent me the most beautiful bouquet. They’re so gorgeous and pink and happy and vibrant. It was the sweetest surprise.

After lunch there was more eating.

The Cheesecake Factory’s 30th Anniversary Cake.

Delish.

Seriously amazing…

You have no idea.

It was wonderful.

The only damper was that I had a dentist appointment yesterday- no cavities so I guess that’s a plus!

It was just a really nice series of days full of really thoughtful people and surprises.

Like I said- I’ve never had a good working environment before. It’s been such a blessing to be where I am.

Today the hits kept coming. My boss and coworker wished me a Happy Birthday Week again today. I told them to stop being so nice to me and they laughed and said- “No-you’re nice!” I opened the card they got me and it made me laugh. Check it out.

HA HA

So you’ll never guess what I got today.

Remember my purse post? I mentioned the fact that I’ve had my current purse for three years- and they did something about it. Today I got the most awesome pink purse! It was the sweetest thing ever. I felt so loved!

There are a lot of times in which I miss Kuwait. We came home at the worst.time.ever. Could the economy be any worse ( ha ha- say that like Chandler Bing when you read that)? However, it’s days like this week in which I remember that my working environment is a lot better than it was before and I’m really blessed.

So- my birthday week has been great.

So I know this post was a sucky read, but I needed to post it just for memory’s sake.

More to come- and less annoying happy personal life update crap.

Tomorrow we’re going to OU’s official Red and White game. It’s a scrimmage they do every year and is somewhat of a big deal around here- for sports fans anyway.

It’s funny to look back and see that four years ago this time I was doing the exact.same.thing. I guess life is cyclical a lot of times.

So- even though we’ve missed the last 3 Red and White games, Will and I are restarting this tradition. Although there are a lot of times during the week in which I miss our life in Kuwait, it’s days like today in which I think about how a normal American weekend sounds nice.

I’m trying to talk Will out of the Ted’s part though because it’s my “birthday week” and darn it- I should get to choose what we have, right!?

Okay- I know I’m stretching here…

So Saturday should be fun and I’m looking forward to it.

Oh- and did I mention I’m going to try my darndest to go to the gym before the game? In some really sick way I’m tempted to text The Gym Nazi to see if she wants to meet up with me….

Because I’m insane.

I’ll let you know what I decide.

If I don’t post in a few days please come looking for me as there’s a good chance my body parts will be strategically stuffed within gym equipment.

Oh wow- that would really be a bad way to go…

Okay no more psychotic murderous gym talk.

Anyway- so the verdict is still out about whether I’m going to text The Gym Nazi- but between the two of us? I so am.

Okay so anyway- Sunday is Easter.

Yay for Easter Sunday.

I’m not going to get into the whole importance of Easter discussion in this post, but I will say part of me is sort of blah about Sunday.

Okay blah AND excited.

If that’s at all possible.

And- I’m pretty sure it’s not…

Which therefore means I guess I need to choose whether I’m blah or excited.

…

How about we split the difference and just say I’m neutral about Sunday?

My in-laws are “surprising” me on Sunday because my birthday is next week. They’re going to drive to our house with a cake and my present and have lunch with us after church.

It’s really sweet and thoughtful- I know. Not only that, but Pat called Will and wanted to get me a birthday cake I really would like.

I seriously heart boxed strawberry cake with regular old canned vanilla frosting on my birthday, and Pat is going to take time out of her busy weekend to “surprise” me with my favorite cake.

I say “surprise” me because Will absolutely knows I would kill him if my in laws up and showed up without any sort of advanced notice.

I mean REALLY! He knows I have to create the fake house before people come over or he would be the one stuffed within a treadmill belt (um- totally kidding about that- don’t arrest me).

I guess the “blah” part is the creating the fake house part. I was really hoping I’d get to be lazy Sunday afternoon, but it doesn’t appear that will happen.

Oh well- it’s still a nice gesture and I should focus on that I suppose.

Please for my sanity say a prayer that Pat doesn’t say anything about the miracle of BIRTHdays and how they celebrate LIFE and how 26 years I was being BORN and how special NEW BORN BABIES are on their BIRTHday.

Because I seriously might launch a wad of strawberry cake up against the wall.

Ha-

Who am I kidding!? You guys know I could never waste a good cake.

That’s blasphemy.

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