Let me tell you something…
Pregnancy hormones? They’re REAL. Like, the pregnancy hormones are coming from inside the house real.
After the high of announcing everything yesterday, I’ve now come down to the other side. In other words, I’m in a fucking MOOD. And quite like that non-drunk part of your drunk brain, the rational part of my currently irrational brain is like, CHILL YOUR SHIT. But not kidding? I could cry at the drop of a hat right now. Even quicker than I can normally cry. I could cry just thinking about the fact that I could cry. It. Is. Real.
Sigh.
Welcome home?
We just arrived at our place after our long-ass vacation to find…
In our mailbox: tons of mail that the USPS did not hold like they said they would, but instead jammed into the mailbox in a haphazard manner.
On our answering machine: seven, count ‘em, seven messages from the car dealership we visited before we left about “earning our business.” I get that you’re eager to earn it, lady, but seven messages (and a mailed letter)? You’re really really pushing it.
Downstairs: our new neighbors have a crying, barking puppy.
Cue the tiny string quartet.
And the award for worst well-intended invention?
The automatic flusher!
I know that the germophobes of the world prefer not to touch anything as disgusting as a public toilet flushing handle (myself included), but that’s what your foot is for. The automatic flusher, like a well-meaninged grandma, comes on a little too quickly and a little too often.
I don’t need you to flush before I even sit down, toilet!! And no, that little breeze and splash when you flush while I’m still peeing is not refreshing!! And stop trying to feed me cookies*!!!!!
