My friend, Jennifer, believes that bad luck comes from puking before the ball drops on New Year's Eve. This theory was born last year when she had perhaps the worst string of luck ever to befall a human. Needless to say, she had visited the Porcelain Lord at around 11 pm.
Both Thomas and I remained relatively sober on New Years, but somehow this was not enough to appease the Gods for this has been the most damage-ridden February of my life. The TV in our bedroom broke; Thomas' van's brakes started squealing; The dog requires tooth surgery; The heat went out; I had ovary and wrist difficulty; Thomas broke his glasses. DUDE! We just cannot catch a break!
I'm exhausted.
I want to blog but I'm preoccupied with what could break next.
Stay Tuned for:
How I am Obsessed with The Little House on the Prairie
Never Wanting to Leave the House
and
Pictures of the Valentine's Day Dessert
2 comments:
I love Little House. Mostly because Pa is so good and honest and bronzed and hardworking and loves his daughters even though they aren't sons.
I never want to leave the house, either. But I have an excuse; I live in the Northeast, where the combination of high winds and rapidly-freezing slush are actually, literally, trying to kill me.
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