Also, I'm sick.
Like, thank heavens we have a toilet and a bathtub, kind of sick.
Like, sweet death come quickly, kind of sick.
Like, why don't we just move the mattress into the bathroom and call it official, kind of sick.
And no, I'm not "pot casting" (as Brett has dubbed it) right now. Right now, I'm on the couch, wishing I was dead or in the bathroom or dead.
We call this the "Aguado Flu" because once, when we both had it, and everyone that we came in contact with got it, and we all purchased burial plots that week...well, we got it from a guy bearing this as his last name. He will forever be seen in my mind as "the man who did this to me" whenever I feel like this. Just like how I scream, "YOU DID THIS TO ME!" at Brett when I'm having horrible contractions.
Only without the implication that something more than shaking hands had taken place...
So I may be a little grumpy. Just a smidgen. The horns should recede once the vomit ceases...