Last Thursday I got the flu. The kind where you have a moments notice to decide which end to put against the bucket and which end against the toilet. The last time I got that violently ill was the day after Thanksgiving of 2008. I remember exactly because it was Thanksgiving morning of 2008 when I made the fateful decision to abuse an over-the-counter Fat Blocking pill and took one right before dinner. Oh, it blocked the fat alright, and I spent 48 hours ejecting the fatty meal out of every available opening of my body. Those pills have since been taken off the market.
I can't imagine why.
Fast forward to last Saturday when I was waiting in line at the DMV to renew my expired driver's license. I was number 17 and they'd just called number 8. Get comfortable. I settled myself with my cup of coffee against the wall because all the chairs were taken by able-bodied men. Don't get me started. I was religiously following the "NO CELL PHONE" rule, because the last time I was in that particular DMV was when Z got his driver's license and in a moment of excitement I took out my cell phone to take his picture and you would have thought I'd just pulled out a gun because all hell broke loose as the man repeatedly demanded that I "DELETE THAT PICTURE!!" I obeyed because I got the feeling that if I didn't, the next step would be the swat team crashing through the windows on ropes and taking me into custody. So now I treat the DMV like the 'Soup Nazi' episode of Seinfeld. I quietly step up to the counter while avoiding all eye contact and state what I need. I was already screwed because my license was expired and expected nothing less than a formal reprimand, if not slammed against the wall and thoroughly frisked. When they finally called my number, I walked toward the counter and was met with the "Stop" hand and the employee dramatically said, "Do not approach this counter with a drink." Oh that's right...I forgot about that new strand of terrorist who's main goal is to throw luke-warm coffee on the DMV employee and then run away. I can see where I totally fit the profile.
That brings us to Show and Tell. C was 'Student-of-the-Week' in her Kindergarten class. Thursday was her Show and Tell day and she wanted to take one of our dogs. Certain the answer would be a solid NO, I text her teacher and was shocked when she told me the school approved it as long as it was a dog "the size you can carry." Well technically, I can carry our German Shepherd so the school might consider being a little more specific, but I digress. C wanted to take Quincy, our 15 lb LlassaPoo. A perfect choice except for one thing. The night before Show and Tell, she broke out in an ear infection so bad that her ear was actually raw and dripping blood. Crap. I looked at our other 2 options: Summer, the high strung Dalmation-Beagle who hacks up white froth when she gets excited or the German Shepherd who hates strangers and is named Axel, pronounced "A**hole" by Caymen. Bloody ear won.
Needless to say, I was ready to see Friday roll around this week. The main project for the weekend was to paint our kitchen so we planned a date night / Lowes trip last night, but landed in Urgent Care when C announced her ears hurt. One positive Strep Test later, we were home scraping our walls preparing to paint when my husband made a discovery and angrily said, "Who painted these walls?!? It looks like somebody started peeling wallpaper off, but got mad and just painted over top of it!!"
Then he stood there glaring at me. First of all, I technically don't remember doing that, so let's take the accusations down a notch. Second of all, getting mad and impatiently painting over wallpaper? Nope. Doesn't sound like me...
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