Do any of you guys remember two years ago, when my birthday lasted like six days and ended with boils? I didn't think it was possible but I think that one might be facing some stiff competition for the most ridiculous birthday ever.
I have been out of town all week busting my ass for the greater good, like usual, only extra hard. So hard, in fact, that I earned a sparkly tiara for my efforts, but that's a story for another day, except for the part where I put it on my head this morning so it wouldn't be crushed and then forgot about it and wore it to many usually tiara-free places. It DID seem like people were admiring me much more than usual, and some old geezer at the gas station told me I looked beautiful, so that worked out well. In fact, I think I might wear it all the time from now on.
I arrived home today with big plans to enjoy my birthday. A party, a Goodwill shopping spree: you know, all my favorite treats. The house was perfectly clean until I got there and lugged in about 8,000 pounds of work and 3,000 pounds of dirty laundry. Then, I took a nap and when I woke up all hell had broken loose. Shane was curled up on the bathroom floor, whimpering and surrounded by vomit. A trail of puke at least forty feet long and a disturbing red-orange color led from the kitchen, through the living room and down the hall. Meanwhile, Lloyd was yanking a loose tooth out of Weston's mouth with a pair of pliers. I guess he figured the whole carpet will have to be bleached anyway so a few more drops of blood won't make any difference.
It was all down hill from there, too. I cancelled my party in favor of popsicle shopping and the Magic School Bus. I'm still going to Goodwill, though. In my tiara. On deck tonight: 8,000 pounds of work, 9,000 pounds of yakked-on laundry, and a truly daunting volume of wine. I just hope that damn tooth fairy doesn't drink too much and fall asleep in her tiara again. I suppose she will be worthless when it comes to folding laundry, too. Happy Birthday to.... Oh, NEVER MIND!