UPDATE: Spank the monkeys, we got a full day! Now look at them. Down there. Scroll down. To the weather monkeys. I'll wait. The boy, he says, "TCWH, you have no SCHOOO-OOO-OOOL. You don't have to tie shoelaces or wipe up droo, ooo, oool. You can get drunk as a skunk before noon and pass out at the indoor poo,ooo,ool." If I wanted to. On this, the seventh week of sobriety, I don't feel like skating myself to the Four Seasons to buy ScotchGard to huff. Snuff. Sniff? Whiff? Inhale. And the girl monkey, she nods silent approval, because dammit, when we do chemically alter ourselves, it will be through the use of Japanese products only, like sake or codeine saturated cough syrup or menthol sprinkled eye drops, because we have to leave the land of the rising sun soon, and I don't think we've absorbed enough of the culture.
Dh calls to check on me every two hours, because left to my own devices, HOW THE HELL WILL I FEED MYSELF? Last week I burned the living sin out of my hand trying to cook. That's after I burned water. Twice. Dh can just call at random times and yell "The WATER! It's burning!" and 9 out of 10 times, he's right. Suffice it to say, I'm no Suzy homemaker.
What the man does not know is that I have discovered his hoard. THE WAFFLES:
And not just any waffles, that might require, you know, some sort of cooking. The TOASTER WAFFLES. With the magic resealable bag. So not only will he NEVER know that I ate them because the bag magically reseals itself, BUT! there will be no scorching of the pans or burning of the skin left behind as evidence! It is almost too good to be true! Plus, I don't even have to worry about him wondering where they went because the expiration date reads March 2004 - he hasn't been eating them. JACKPOT!
Hmmm. I wonder what else I can stick in there? A new orifice! A new orifice! And it is electrical!
*grabs fork*
Author's NOTE: I am not responsible for what appears on my blog today.