I’ve been sick and Her Bad Father has been off somewhere in the arctic or the rainforest or over the rainbow or wherever and the hot water pipes just bust and the clothes dryer is broken and one of the cats threw up on the duvet and tomorrow (today? what time is it?) is my birthday and I’m pretty sure that the day is going to be announced, sometime before 6am, by a lot of high-pitched shouting and very probably a wee pink rubber boot tossed at my head. If I’m lucky, I’ll also get to have a cold shower, and maybe some pre-licked Cheerios for breakfast.
…and laugh. A lot.
Love, and ice cream, and giggles, and the sweetest, sweetest smile. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
(Except for maybe a hot shower and some really strong sinus medication, or maybe just a really dry double martini or three. You got any of that?)