Well, my lack of sleep, and plethora of outside stresses, have finally caught up with me. I’m officially ill. I’m walking around the house with a box of Kleenex stuffed up my sleeve, my head is so stuffy I feel like H.R Puff ‘n Stuff, and I have aches where I haven’t ached since… well, never mind on that one. Let's just say, I have aches.
To make things worse, everything I touched today turned into a gigantic hunk of poo!!!
|Special kinda hug? Pfft... Can't even get the old fashioned kind!|
I’m bat shit bitchy, I'm wallowing in complete and total self-pity, and I need a hug.
A special kinda hug.
The kind of hug that leads straight into sex!
Problem is my husband got home from work, took one look at me and immediately announced he was sleeping on the couch. What the hell? DUDE…Suit it up and take it for the TEAM!
As a chronic hand washer I rarely feel under the weather. The last time I was ill was when I returned from Jamaica last February. I’m sure I had something incubating whilst I was there but was certainly glad I didn't spend big bucks to stay in water closet for almost a week. In this instance, I really do believe it's stress. Unexpected emotional stress. The kind of emotional stress that gets relieved by that special kinda hug I was telling you about.
This too shall pass. When it does, the first thing I'm doing is digging out my husbands very favourite piece of lingerie. I'm going to prepare his favourite dinner wearing only that. I'm going to pour some wine, run a bubble bath and light some candles. Only then, will I whisper into his ear, asking if he'd like the special kinda hug I'm telling you about. Once he whispers his answer back, I'll...
IMMEDIATELY CHANGE INTO MY FLANNEL JAMMIES... & SLEEP ON THE COUCH.
What can I say? Turn about is fair play BABY... Turn about's fair play!