Too Much Perfection?

I hate clowns. But this is kinda how I'm feeling today.

Whatever DH had, that he claimed was allergies, was contagious. The wutz is sick, he's been running a low grade fever for a couple days. He also has pinkeye. And I am sick, too. Sore throat, headache, cough. Just ick ick ick.


I'll blog more tomorrow, hopefully.

This song is so so me...

For the second day, we are finally receiving rain! I am so grateful for it. Hopefully the thick yellow coating of pollen will be washed away to a near-manageable level. I don't know for certain if it has been particularly bad this year, or if I'm simply more aware of it since I've had to listen to DH's sniffling and snuffling and generally looking like he picked up a heroin addiction sometime around the beginning of spring. Either way, I want the icky shit gone.

Not because it bothers me, mind you, simply because the whole allergy thing with DH is akin to a mancold that never gets any better. No, I do not have allergies. After years and years as a child of hearing the doctor declare, "It's just her allergies." every freaking time I had a sniffle or a headache, I finally broke down and made an appointment with an Allergist a few years ago, despite my fear of needles.

For those that don't know of my many quirks, one of them is being touched on the underside of my forearm. It absolutely fuhreaks me out and makes me feel like I could rocket through the ceiling in attempt to escape the touch. It is that bad. And the forearm is exactly where they administer the test punctures to check for allergies. It was a horrible experience, but I was desperate for a solution to my headaches and since I'd heard over and over and over how my allergies were the true culprit, I knew I had to be tested if I were ever going to find relief.

So I was.

And I found out that I am allergic to...





Nothing.



Yep, that's right. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing.

I wasn't sure whom to strangle first, the nurse that administered the useless test, the allergist that ordered the test, or all of the doctors that had declared me to have allergies. Fortunately for them, I couldn't decide so I've put it off. I am a procrastinator, you know.

But their day is coming. Eventually.

Alright, gang. I've finally joined the masses and started tweeting on Twitter. Yeah, really. I have. My friends dragged me kicking and screaming after ages of rebellion to finally join Facebook and I still do not remotely find that little hellhole appealing. That may be because Facebook hates me or maybe I hate it. Probably a bit of both.

Now I'm rambling...

Anywho, I am sure some of you noticed the little Twitter gadgetmathingabob over there ----------->

So, if you Twitter, follow me and I'll return the favor! I'm surprised I like it, since I loathe FB (see above) but I really do. It is like Facebook lite, which is plenty for me!

Sometime this weekend half of a Bounce dryer sheet migrated into our shower. I'd be willing to wager that it hitched a ride on the back of one of the towels that gets unceremoniously slung over the shower door. No matter how it found its way into the floor of the shower, it has been there for nearly a week.

One might think that I, being the dutiful wifey that I am, would have picked it up by now. However, if you think that, you obviously do not know me well. Oh no, I have spent my hour-long showers each night pretending not to see this little vermin looking thing that was sopping wet by the time the hour was up and the water had grown cold.

I have surreptitiously avoided the thing in hopes that dear ole DH would finally cave and slog the nasty thing to the trash can. A girl can dream, right? Not surprisingly, though, that has not happened.

Fast forward to yesterday evening when the wutz and I showered together...

He looked down and his eagle eyes zeroed in on the abandoned Bounce sheet. Immediately, he swooped down upon it, gripping his prey in his little talon and holding it up like he'd found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

"What's that?" he asked in his inquisitive little voice.

"Trash." I replied.

"Oh." he said as the little cogs in his brain began to work. Then he nodded sagely.

"White trash." he declared.





Yes, little grasshopper, you may never know just how right you are.









Seriously.