Fast on the heels of my moan yesterday, one of the key bodies at work told me that we're soon going to have more help. I don't think she knows about the Mrs, and I definitely didn't email her the best illustration ever. Definitely not.
. . .
Mr was at home today doing up quotes for clients and took the time to send me some of the most ridiculous emails I've ever had the pleasure of receiving. My head exploded from laughing, and he had the audacity to ask me for the phone number of someone who could clean up my gory headless body.
I ask you, of all the inconsiderate, lazy--like I'm going to worry about cleaning up after myself when I'm dead because he killed me. Sheesh.
. . .
I'm currently eating sour gummi bears, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, watching Pride and Prejudice (Matthew Macfayden, not Colin Firth. Better.), and waiting for Mr to get back from another job he's quoting.
Oh, yeah. And writing. Not drawing. Definitely not drawing.
. . .
Yesterday as Mr and I were making dinner, and the kids were playing around in the pots and pans cupboard, as kids are wont to do, Miss came running up to us crying because she "peeped in her pants".
Except she didn't.
She peeped in a saucepan.
That is all.
