I woke Ned up in the middle of the night. According to my Fitbit, it was somewhere between 2:47 and 3:08. "I'm sick," I announced, not at all dramatically. "My stomach is sick."
"Oh, no!" Ned jolted up. "Come here! What can I do?"
Now, see, there's the difference between Ned and me. I'd have been all OHMYGOD STOMACH SICKNESS! I'M GOING TO A HOTEL!
"There's nothing you can do," I said to him, not at all dramatically. "I'm going to sleep on the couch." And I did. Lily slept on my stomach, which I thought was going to be awful but was in fact not so bad. The 49 times I had to get up and run to the bathroom last night, Edsel accompanied me, and now I have an image of me on the pot and Edsel playing accordion.
The point is, now I feel better, and I'm going to work because stoic, and I weighed myself and lost like a pound, which is completely unfair. I promise you I dropped Mrs. Brown off at the pool 90 times, and Mrs. Brown's been retaining water.
Does that ever happen to you, where you wake up horrifically nauseated and you feel awful and you finally fall asleep and your body's all, eh. Better now, mostly. What is that?
In other news, don't forget that we've got a new book club book, and that book is Forever by Judy Blume because it's 1976 right now. Red, white and blue everything and the bicentennial minute.
Also, Ned and I went to that Chris Rock movie, Top Five, which I did not even want to see but he showed me the preview and I said, Oh, now I want to see that. So we did, and it was great. I didn't even expect to like it, and I don't know why because I like Chris Rock. Anyway, I recommend. And look at us, going to a mainstream movie! We're so basic. We totally shoulda gone to Applebee's after.
I have to go, which I always say and then I talk 72 more minutes. Here's my latest Purple Clover and here are photos I've taken recently that're on my desktop that I keep meaning to add here and never do. June Gardens' School of Organized Thought. Instructor: June--oh, wow, look at that!
She's 109, and she can still jump to the top of the wardrobe. She'd be one of those old ladies who still cuts her own grass.
Hey, how's that the-dogs-aren't-allowed-in-the-living-room thing going?
When my coworker, Griff, left for Christmas, we decided to all chip in and girl up his workspace. Sadly, you can't see the MILF someone put on his wall in glitter letters.
And finally, in summation, Faithful Reader Paula sent me TWO Real Romance magazines and I have read them thoroughly. I read them thoroughly the minute I got them. Ohmygod, they were FABULOUS, and I forgot that each narrator is a cute girl with a pert figure. "I was 26 years old, with honey-blonde hair and a pert figure." They're never a dog.
Okay, it's late. I gotta dress like a sexpot and get to work.