It's like The Stepford Wives, Without the Wife Part
It's been a busy weekend. After work on Friday I cranked up my new lawn mower, I named it Tyrone.. my personal trainer... and mowed, chopped and mulched everything that dared rear it's little chlorophylled head in my path. I had a little more to do on Saturday and when I was finished, I found myself peeking out of the kitchen window, admiring my accomplishments for the rest of the day.
That's a big assed yard to be cutting with a push mower ya'll.
My plan (and that right there should be your first clue that the following did not happen) was to stop at Lowe's to buy that tiller (Tyrone gets lonely on the porch all alone) after I did the hunting and gathering, but I woke up this morning to find that Aunt Flo had stopped by in the middle of the night and had brought along her cousins Oma Achingback and Crampastella. It was all I could do to get through the wally world without impaling a screaming kid with a chocolate easter bunny.
Diabetes and PMS are a dangerous combination. If I can't have chocolate... NO ONE ELSE WILL.
Also this weekend, I made my own laundry detergent and dishwasher soap (clearly I've been watching too many of those uber fertile religious wimmens on TLC,) made my own sew-in labels for the pillow covers in my Etsy shop and some complimentary refrigerator magnets to send out with the packaging.
Sweet baby Jesus... someone stop me.
The other day I caught myself watching a craft show on BYU (that's Brigham Young University... you know.. The Mormon channel) and we won't even discuss my obsession with Sister Wives.
As we speak there's a crock pot full of steel cut oats with cherries, almonds and flax seed on the kitchen counter, which I'll separate out into individual containers before placing them in the fridge in the morning.
WHAT THE HELL?
I think I'm gonna go crank up some Ozzy.. maybe AC/DC. I need to reprogram my brain. Something.
Ya'll have a killer week. We'll talk again soon.