I wish I could tell you all the things I wish to today, but I have to work before I go to work, then after work Ima do some work. I haven't even TOUCHED my Polish stuff, which is not a eupemism, in days.
If I had time to blog, I would:
- Show you those emails between Ned and me, but that's an hour of cutting and pasting right there.
- Tell you how I've managed to accidentally French kiss two of my four pets--one of them twice.
- Fill you in on the part where my coworker said, "And I'm on the Rare Fruit Committee!"
I know.
- Complain in horrific detail about the cold I am getting.
- Get you up to date on my weekend, which includes old June, here, attending a sporting event. No one is roofie-ing me to attend. I said I'd go. Voluntarily.
- Oh, and I'd also tell you how Ned and I bought pomegranates, and that is not a euphemism, and have I created a pomegranate MONSTER? "I'm eating more of the pustules. GODAMMIT, this is delicious!"
But I cannot tell you any of these things. Back to statistics. And sore throating. Yay.
P.S. Everyone say happy birthday to my mother! She is 87 years young today. (Guess who just halved her Christmas gifts in one funny funny sentence?)
