Stupid cootie fest has begun right on time...I'm home with a fever, sore throat, headache, and raspy cough. That's the sexy that brings the boys to my yard...
And you only feel good for about 12 minutes between bouts of sleep where you have feverish dreams of Judas Priest - and *not* good dreams, Salvidor Dali-type ones.
I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to read or post this blog and feeling like crap makes me cranky to boot...no fun at all. Just ask Tank.
She's not kidding. She shows up at home way earlier than she normally does during the week, and I'm thinking, "Woo-hoo, get to go run around at the park!" I. Was. So. Wrong.
(Run away! Run away!)