I think I've aged 20 years in the past week. That's not even taking into consideration the pounds that I'm steadily packing on with Thanksgiving Dinner III right around the corner. I think my scales have run away from home. Maybe they went to live with Kate Hudson. Now THAT would be nirvana for scales.
I woke up this morning before seven. I can't even begin to describe the agony of me, a narcoleptic, seeing the sun rise. Two days in a row no less. Oh and it wasn't the boyfriend who was in the driveway yesterday morning. It was (ahem) another boy. We won't go there. Not now.
I went back to sleep eventually and woke up realizing two things. One. My house is a wreck. Two. There's a Christmas tree and decorations in the attic and they're yelling at me.
"Come geeeeet me! I want to plaaaaaay."
I swear, that's what they're saying. I hate them. I might leave them up there until next year just to punish them for tormenting me. I've got a whole year of guilt trips planned, I didn't need their help.
When we bought our living room furniture, I made the mistake of thinking my room is bigger than it really is. Now I've got to figure out where to stash a tree so that I can still walk through the room. Plus, I've got kitten cats this year. Ones who have never seen a Christmas tree. Four of them. Little monsters. Plus the thirty pounder that's been there done that and left a nest in the middle of the tree last year so she can easily find her favorite place to sleep this year.
I'm thinking it's going to be an interesting week.
But hey, at least I don't have a scale to mock me. Pretty sure my skinny jeans will do that just fine.