I say may be because although it is currently the chore that most makes me want to curl up into a quivering Ball of I Quit, things do change and chances are I'll find some other compulsory task that fills me with even greater loathing than the endless cycle of Haul-Wash-Dry-Fold-Hang-Whine-Pout.
As it stands, my laundry is 85% done, and that's going to have to be good enough. I'm firmly curled into my physical position of Ball of I Quit.
So now I'm sittin' sloppy and looking at pictures of pretty dresses on the interwebs and counting down the days until I can start working out again.
|I could pull this off, right?|
I'm very anxious to get my Pregnant Size back down to my normal Krista Size.
But not enough that my desire for more cake has been smashed. Because that primal urge is very much alive and well.
|Drool..... now if only I had the skill to make this. $45.00 is too much to pay for someone else to make it for me.|
Huh. Kathry Griffin was in Muppets In Space. Who knew?
So..... it occurs to me that for all my maturity, in many ways I have a LOT of growing up left to do. Let me explain.
My husband is super hot. Seriously. He's a delicious hunk of sweet sweet Man. And because he's a super personable super hottie, he gets hit on a lot. Which INFURIATES me. Not that he's getting hit on, necessarily, because I know he's totally all mine and he loves me completely; but because I'm just a whiny jealous little girl.
Yes, I'm jealous of my smokin' hot husband and the fact that I don't get hit on anymore. At all. And he does. All the fuckin' time.
He tells me over and over that I'm beautiful and attractive and so on and so forth, and I smile and say thanks...... but it still doesn't change the fact that men don't even bat an eye at me anymore and girls all over the DC area are falling head over heels for my charming (but very unattainable) man.
So, like I said, I have a LOT of growing up to do.
And let's start with going to bed. Goodnight!