This coming weekend is our annual
dirty respite weekend away.
Two whole days where MPS and I get to lounge around in our underwear eating junk food and watching crappy TV and SLEEPING.
MOTY will be watching the Not So Tiny Anymore Terrorist aka Boo for TWO WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING DAYS and we can actually pretend to be real people for a change.
You know without Ice Ice Baby on loop all night or to be woken at 3am by a nearly 6ft tall walking white blanket bursting into our room to take a dump in the ensuite.
Unless we PAY for the privilege.
And I am pretty sure we are going to give that one a miss.
A weekend that I am planning on spending either asleep, attempting to eat my body weight in macarons (best place for macarons in Melbourne please peeps) or blind drunk.
OR, as the universe seems to be indicating SICK.
Boo is home sick with a cold.
Running around the house half naked wrapped in a sleeping bag and wiping his snot covered face on the walls.
Oh and COUGHING IN MY FACE.
Having a cold wont slow me down – unless I have a sore throat, cause THAT is my Achilles heel – but what if MPS gets it?
I fucking love Dramatic Chipmunk.
*whispers* man flu *whispers*
So peeps, pray to your designated deity – unless your designated deity is actually ME then just send cold and flu meds and lots of cash – that we don’t get this dreaded lurgy. And if it is our destiny to be shoving balled up tissues up our nasal cavities and mouth breathing then it will happen after Tuesday next week.
Mummy needs to get her freak on.*
I thank you in advance.
*to the Damn Emos that may or may not be reading, by ‘get her freak on’ I mean sitting daintily reading the entire works of Shakespeare while sipping tea. Of course.
P.S. Fuck, I just sneezed.