My mouth is frozen up from eating several cups of rabbit poop ice one after the other~even my eyeballs are frosted. But it can't be helped, friends. The ice is the perfect consistency right. this. very. moment. Can't be wasted.
Hey! Did I mention that I am going to see IRON MAN 2~AT MIDNIGHT tonight...with a bunch of FREAKIN' AWESOME women who just happen to be the mothers of my son's best friends who are all on missions at the same time, and if they were here, the boys would totally go to the midnight showing, because they're young and insane, but since they're out serving their God, they can't serve the master of midnight movies...but their mommas can...so we are takin' one for the team...TEAM MISSIONARY SON...and arriving at the theater when we'd normally be arriving in our beds, with a pic line of Dr. Pepper and popcorn? Did I mention that? Well, consider it mentioned.
I'm pretty excited. It makes me feel young. Not fer real young. More like make believe young. Cuz we all know the adrenaline rush will run out roughly 45 minutes before the theater even dims. And my body will quickly adapt to the sugar and caffeine and decide to either give me a migraine, and/or start exploding like popcorn in hot oil, into fat cell pockets all over my body.
Kind of like boils.
Fat cell boils, filled with Dr. Pepper and licorice.
Hate to be there when those babies rupture.
Anyway, good times just around the midnight bend.
And speaking of bend, husband has been bending and stretching, getting our sprinklers and yard in order. He's now almost crippled. Much like me after my nubile, young dance moves. I kind of erred the first time he complained that his wrist hurt after using the weed eater. Pulled a "YOU, not ME." Big mistake. Huge.
"You know. There's probably something wrong with you. You really shouldn't be in pain after such a simple task." Me said knowingly... and condescendingly. And about every other "ingly" you can think of that is known to irritate a spouse.
So then, when ME came limping in after the assembly, me slipped in a puddle of those very same words that he tossed out like marbles on the linoleum. He did the two fingered eyeball point, then helped me up with his stiff wrist and we called a truce.
So now, every time one of us staggers to our feet after performing another "simple task," we exchange a knowing glance and pop a handful of ibuprofen. It seems to be working well.
OKAY, I'm off to thread a vein.
Wish me well. (yawn)
Is it over yet?
Where's my Ibu?