Um, Something.

It’s gotten to the point that when I say things like, “I want to have a party for the winter solstice and paint the living room and adopt ten puppies, all this weekend,” Dave doesn’t even bat an eyelash. 

He just sighs and tells me no.  

To which I respond to most every {stupid} thing he says for the rest of the day with a “your face,” alternated occasionally with a “your butt.”  Then, I think of the most compromising positions his parents could be in at the time and then remind him of that.  I may very well be the best wife in the entire world.

I also wear monkey pajamas all day.  He has broken me of wearing them in public, which is good because we saw a grown ass man wearing Cookie Monster pajama pants at the store the other day and dude looked a little cray. 

I’m not going to lie, Dave IS lucky to have me.  My only talent is creating cute babies.  {After millions of fertility treatments and a little stint where I almost died and he wouldn’t leave me alone for months, but we can leave that part out.}  I don’t clean, make fun of him on the internet, I barely remember to pick the four year old up from preschool, and I don’t even bring home the bacon.

Well, I mean I DO work.  Really though… is it work if you’re paid to hang out on the internet with you people? I mean it’s like the equivalent of all your moms chipping in to pay me to be friends with you.  It isn’t even that you aren’t pretty or popular or that you don’t put out, because we all know you do.  It’s not like your moms need to pay me.  I would totally be friends with you for free, but don’t tell your moms that because I need to keep these toes pedicured except of course, for the month of January. 

I just now remembered why I started this post.

I’m taking the rest of the week off from the blog.  I’m up to my eyeballs in a project that isn’t funded by your mom, but is funded by someone else and well, they probably want me to get finished up.  Plus, I’m planning two parties right now.  Two.  And three, possibly four more in the next six months.  Dave is really happy with me, he might even let me adopt ten puppies.  I also have to corral this baby who is now getting into everything and stop the four year old from wrestling with her.  I will still be on Facebook this week {I totally wrote wee instead of week there and then laughed my ass off at the thought of wee, I might be twelve years old} discussing my insane Pinterest addiction {ok, so I’ll be on Pinterest too, I can’t quit you Pinterest} and linking to things like how to clean your Dyson and begging for shampoo suggestions.  Next up is getting you to spill all your beauty secrets because, you’re pretty. 

Yesterday was National Compliment Day which you would know if you were on Facebook hanging out with me.

Hey Dave...  your face.