Please, please, please, please, keep your fingers crossed for me tomorrow.
Not about all the ovary shit. That will work itself out one way or another and if I have to carve that fucker out myself with my knife and wear it around my neck, it’ll go well with the testicles this ball-busting feminist keeps strung up. Ha. That’s a joke, fellas.
No, I mean about the house. I know it’s unwise, after the disappointments of the summer, to fall completely an unabashedly in love with a place before the inspection, but I am completely in love with this place. I want to marry it and have tiny red brick babies with tiny acre lots and tiny wells. I just want this to work out. I want to move into that house.
So, please, if you do anything woo-woo at all, do some of it tomorrow for me.
I’ll try to get back here to let you know how things went, but, if they go poorly, I’m sure you’ll hear me crying.
Filed under: Stories About Me
I have had my fingers and toes crossed for ya all day. Hope it *all* works out perfectly.
Wishing you the best of Irish luck, novenas optional! :)
woo wooing for youuuu. ;)
Good Luck!
My version of woo-woo includes prayers and fasting, both of which I’ve been doing for you today. I don’t normally tell people when I fast, because that’s all like praying in the street in public and whatnot, but I thought maybe it would help you to know the woo-woo in your favour.
My version of woo-woo also thinks it’s interesting in that way things are that your seat of womanhood is acting up right as you investigate a new home. Homes are symbolic of the mother force, as you know. You’re living in a stream of poetic energy, that’s for sure.
Woo-woo actions initiated. So far, all that’s happened is that I’ve dreamed that I made you a case of specialty marmalades and jellies because you were going to need the jars for your new house.
Fingers crossed!