Held Captive: Week 30 (or 31, or something like that)
Yes, I’m still pregant, and I’m beating the bars of a prison with a tin cup! All foods result in severe and extreme heartburn. I’m thinking that a strange man could possibly lure me into his bedroom at the promise of an endless supply of Tums…or perhaps an erotic massage using Phillip’s Milk of Magnesia? Not that it matters, because my tummy is so big, I can no longer see my va-jay-jay. So if anybody has any advice on one handed ”grooming” pre-doctor’s visits using a lipstick mirror in the shower, I am all ears!! Oh, and if there is any way I can relieve that incredibly sexy “I’ve just swallowed John Goodman” feeling, please let me know!
In other news, I got on my high horse, got out my lasso, and roped Mr. Blogarella once and for all. I made an “honest man” out of him on June 28th.
In Sickness and in Phlegm
As women, we wear a lot of hats, most of which we do not get on sale. Most recently Mr. Blogarella and I had our first ever joint bout of the dreaded lurgy. Being one who likes to share, it was no surprise that he came home, kissed me on the mouth, and then told me his throat was scratchy. Despite all my avoidence tactics, I still got the bed time snuggles complete with coughing and the sensual sounds of cough drops being chewed directly in my ear. Ah love! Isn’t it grand?
I did my best to take care of him when suddenly I had the scratchy throat. I decided to simply suck it up and do what I had to do when my vocal chords were taken over by the voice of a drag queen. This was fun while it lasted because I was saying things to Mr. Blogarella like “come over here big boy, I have something I want to show you!” But alas, I’m full on sick, no voice, no energy, and only annoying hand signals to communicate what I am feeling. Naturally the most used hand signal involves the middle finger. My primary caretaker is a male who is clearly more concerned with breaking his current record on Tiger Woods Golf. He should be thanking me for being sick because due to my ailment, he’s been able to play even more and is now ranked in the top 800 in the world in the online standings. And yet, I still get stuck having to eat delicacies that have emerged from our freezer and can be reheated in a toaster. Woe is me indeed. If I have to eat another corn dog, I’m going assault him with the left over stick. I will continue to love honor and cherish him, but I think next time he gets sick, I’m going to throw a party.
Update: There has been an official apology, however, I still plan on ratting him out to his mother as soon as I can talk.
