I won't even go into the weekend. Needless to say it was bad: rife with guilt, marital squables, whiney children, psycho neighbors, and early curfews. Hey. It was all good. Life in my late thirties, right? It's a fucking joy.
Every man with grey hair paid our table a call, including a Sea Captain and The Guy Who Just Got Back From The Carribean. His lead was asking us why we were wearing jackets. Apparently they don't wear jackets in the Carribean.
I even got to see the mother's ex-husband of the girl who my daughter rides to school with, with his Floozie. What the hell am I supposed to say? Can't mention where I went cuz the ex-wife/mother will catch on right away.
Nothing. I'll say nothing. It's for the best anyway. I already have one neighbor who hates me.
Ok, two, but who's counting??
BTW, my kid is going to get 10/10 on his spelling test tomorrow and probably make at least 3/5 of his challenge words, too. I might've never claimed a political party, but I'm not a bad mother.
Last night I dreamed I lived in an underground house with vinyl flooring all over. And chickens. Lots of chickens.
Can't be good.