Somewhere among my many incoherent posts, my kind-hearted readers decided I needed advice. Look at her, they said (although they can’t see me at all, for all they know I could be a specter typing this with my ghostly fingers, boogedy boogedy.) She’s all bedraggled and hysterical! Call the constable!
Despite all appearances, we are quite well and fine, here. I did end up leaving Henry with the foo-foo man for the afternoon—he offered, and I needed to purchase some wine. It will interest you to know that he was returned intact, albeit with an interesting new facial tic. I’m sure it will give him character!
In other words, the irony here, it is thickly layered, like I like my cakes. (JESUS WOULD SOMEONE SEND ME A CAKE I WANT CAKE.) Ahem. You know who else doesn’t get irony? Toddlers. Do not appreciate the irony. Also, they give terrible pedicures. Also: have no self-control when it comes to the application of cologne. And: they often fail to respect the walk-on-the-right-side rule and will weave back and forth like drunks, irritating pedestrians everywhere. And that’s not all: they begin every friggin’ argument with “Allow me to play devil’s advocate for a minute, here.”
They are such dicks.
In other news: Jesus, my blogroll. Why must I always take the Lord’s name in vain, she said to herself as she typed. I’m beginning to hate the blogroll—not the blogs in the blogroll, you understand, just blogrolls in general. I made some half-assed attempt at updating the blogroll a few days ago, only to realize later that I had left 50,000 other worthy blogs out of the roll, and then those blogs sent me nasty emails threatening to gut me like a fish, and then the blogs in my blogroll threatened THOSE blogs and now everyone is fighting. And all I want is to make everyone happy. I’m like Mother Theresa except better, and alive.
And yes, I’m completely sober! Or: no, I’m not drunk! Depending on what you’re asking.