Jeff and I had a date last night. It was a dress-up affair -- the biannual Mardi Gras fundraiser at Christ the King, complete with drinks before and bootleg drinks out in the parking lot. Team Ogden had Ali for the night. I'd brought "the girls" out, and I'd even downed some energy drink to ensure perky-ness all around. It was a recipe for an early anniversary night if you get my drift.
Around 9 p.m., I started to yawn. I cursed my Bunco sisters for the late Friday night I'd spent with them and got myself some coffee. I wandered around the room blinking a lot. A bald guy winked at me and a lady with short hair and tight pants gave me a long look up and down. I checked my dress for slippage, but realized I was probably coming on to people with every stroll around the gym what with my blinking and hiding yawns behind my head.
I whispered to Jeff that maybe we could slip out early. I'm fairly certain that my escape labeled me as the lamest girl at the dance, but by the time we'd gotten home, swallowing was painful. (not a good omen for the rest of the night's entertainment...) and I felt like dying wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Jeff's at basketball and Alison is gone. The house is as silent as a morgue. I think someone put a layer of sandpaper in my throat. I have to pee but the floor will be really cold when I get up.
I'm only awake now because I just had a dream that Gwen Stefani's little baby Kingston had just told his rocker mommy that he would make me some hot tea and help me feel better.
It's hell being me. Light a candle for me this morning.
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1 comment:
I take back all the horrible things I said about you after you left. Just joking about the terrible things, but I was bummed you left early. I'm sorry to hear you are sick and hallucinating about little rocker children. Drink some chicken soup and put a cold wash cloth on your head. I hope you feel better soon!
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