Forget the Fluff

I always do that. I say I'm going to write warm fuzzy happy stuff for a day and then BAM! I wake up. If you can't already tell I'm seriously hormonal, anemic, and down right b-i-t-c-h-y. With a capital B. Talked to my sister today. Yeah, the one with hair like Catherine Zeta-Jones. She called me a comment whore. I asked for clarification. She said I would write anything if I thought it would provoke a comment out of someone. I laughed. You ain't seen nothin' yet. I don't write a fraction of the stuff that bounces around in my head or the crazyness that I sometimes find myself in. Helloooo!!! I'm the Mayor of Crazytown, remember? Consider yourself warned.

So this morning my Handsome Husband invites me to lunch with him. Which was very nice and sweet and gave me reason to get out of bed and shower today. We go. It's great. They serve shrimp. I love shrimp. And we leave and I'm thinking, "I haven't bled to death yet." I think I'm gonna make it. Let's go shopping. Shopping always makes me feel better. And while I'm shopping I only have to stop and find a restroom twice. Things are good. I find a cute shirt. Then, Oh crap! Not again. I DO NOT under any circumstance EVER want to use the bathroom at T.J. Maxx. But I clearly don't have a choice. Fabulous. And then we go from fabulous to craptastic. I reach for the needed supplies. How long have we been gone? Oh, chit. I'm out of supplies. And I'm wearing new khaki shorts. Explitive. Explitive. Explitive.

Which is why my sister got the call in which the first words out of my mouth were "I'M WEARING A FREAKIN' DIAPER!!!"