The back of the Tums bottle says "Do not consume more than 15 in a 24 hour period." Who eats 15 Tums? That was last week. So what exactly would happen if I did eat 15 Tums?
Culprit? Chocolate. I have developed a puking, burning, I'm-having-a-heart-attack-and-going-to-die-allergic-type response to chocolate two weeks before Christmas. Nice.
I was not drunk on the road this morning. I dropped my pear. It might have been safer to let it just roll around the gas pedal than the approach I took to retrieve it.
The squirrel like hoarding of baby shoes has begun. I know they are completely, totally, and wholly unnecessary, but I love baby shoes.
I know babies are not dolls, but what else do you do with them for the first 8 weeks except dress them up?
My kid does better in heels than I do.
I have to wear both heels and nylons this week for my husband's work party where I get to flash my pearly whites, make small talk, and be nice to people I don't know. An occasion that makes me wish I drank even a little bit. Except I don't and I can't. Picture me walking in heels, with an altered center of gravity, and a little bit tipsy. A fabulous Christmas card.
Christmas card? What Christmas card?