Why, hello blog! It's been awhile. Apparently I do have a life. Go figure.
If you're here looking for a TWD post, you will probably be sorely disappointed. After reading the comments describing this week's Lemon Cup Custard as "eggy", "eggy", and as a variant, "eggy", I decided to bag it. It would have gone to waste.
If I sound a little cranky, it's just that I'm having a bit of a day, you see. A day that started at 12:40 am or so, when, having been in bed for a full 40 minutes, The Hubster and I were awoken to a sound of scritch-scritching in the wall right next to my side of the bed. Mere inches from where I had been innocently sleeping.
Now, I live in a suburban development. We have squirrels, chipmunks, moles (damn them!), skunks, rabbits, uncollared cats and even the occasional possum. Every member of this suburban menagerie has the decency to STAY OUTSIDE, where God designed animals to live. Up until this winter, I had never seen nor been aware of a mouse on our property. For which I have been very grateful. I am equal to a lot of tribulation, but mice are not on that list.
After spending over an hour huddled in the fetal position in my desk chair with my feet safely off the floor, The Hubster finally coaxed me back to bed, and promised that at first daylight he'd do a perimeter and attic check of the house. So at 2 am I laid, huddled in the fetal position in my bed with my feet safely off the floor, jumping out of my skin at every little noise that the house made, until my alarm went blaringly off at 7 am. Ugh.
This was the point at which I woke to find that my 15 year old was sick. Fever, malaise, serious hocking-up of louies. It wasn't pretty. He hadn't slept much the night before, either, and still couldn't sleep. I put him on the couch in front of Ken Burns' Civil War and let him doze. He tossed and turned, finally got up and decided to retake the algebra test that he had crashed and burned on earlier in the week. Didn't seem like a great idea to me under the circumstances, but what do I know?
He got 69%. Uff.
And that's when the diarrhea started. So now my house smells like poo, a fact that didn't really hit my nostrils until I was putting a spoon into a jar of Nutella.
It's not a good idea to be contemplating Nutella at the exact point that your brain registers that your house smells like poo. Because Nutella does bear a passing resemblance to, uh, yeah. You know what I'm sayin'. Needless to say, I'm kinda off Nutella for the rest of the day.
I need to go down to the basement to clean up after this debacle, but there may or may not be a mouse in my basement at the moment, and as a dear friend put it so delicately to me this morning, I am being totally pansy ass about this. I am stridently unapologetic about it, too. So there.
So, at shortly before noon, I am kinda ready to be done with my day. I am going to go now and find a comfortable chair where I can take a nap in the fetal position, feet safely off the floor.