Anyway, guess how much that bad news is costing us? SEVEN. FREAKING. GRAND. PEOPLE. That's right. And if you've been with me from the beginning, you'll recognize this as an exact carbon copy of this time last year.
And right after swallowing that chunk of glee, poor, dear husband came home with anxiety dripping out of his nose pores, on account of this guy named Jack~last name Ass~goes by the nickname Dumb~heehawing that he wanted his name removed from the records of our business. I KNOW! Like we hadn't already excommunicated Jack eons ago. Moron.
So anyway. That's all I got. Well, that and a gaggle full of blessings that I'm choosing to ignore. Because 'TIS THE SEASON, friends. Even though I have a life full of goodness, I'm sitting on Santa's lap and whispering that it's just not enough.
I want a Red Ryder BB gun, too.
That shoots Satan balls.