As all of you know (all of you?? Okay, I like the illusion that a lot of people read this blog, so just play along, will ya?) that I’ve been working my butt off every day in –
And for the very first time in my life, I’ve managed all three of them fairly well. Our living room looks catastrophic and dammit I can’t blame it on my kid because I don’t have any. Wait, what? You thought I did?
Now, that’s not going to fly.
- I may be old enough to be a mother of five, but people have frequently expressed that I look younger than my age. Okay, come to think of it, my sister has always been in the same room as I every time someone has said that. Do you think they were complimenting her instead? Damn.It. Okay, I’ll come up with a plan to fatten her up. Any ideas?
- I’m slim-ish and have no belly fat. Murali’s got that covered for both of us, so mock him instead. (Actually, I urge you to).
- That’s all I got, no more defense. Okay my life is over, it’s worthless. My husband just called me a ‘Kettle ball’. See for yourself. We were trying to decide for how long he’ll be able to stay to play squash and workout after. Messages in grey is from that insensitive heart breaker of a husband.
I didn’t know what the heck a kettle ball was, so I googled it. And guess what, IT’S NOT EVEN A REAL WORD!! I think he meant to call me a ‘kettle bell’ which is equally worse but at least it means something and doesn’t have ‘…ball’ in it.
I’m feeling suicidal and homicidal and I can’t decide what exactly. But, I’m probably going to drop a ‘kettle ball’ on his head when I meet him in a few minutes.
Plus, I forgot what I was going to write.