I know you were wondering how I was going to top a shirtless Mark Twain.
I give you, “Report of Fertility in a Woman with a Predominantly 46,XY Karyotype.” In short, everything you were taught in high school biology just got more wronger.
More wronger. I was going to fix that, but, if high school biology is wrong, maybe high school grammar is, too.
Rachel came and got her afghan and loves it! I think she’s going to have fun looking at it.
And, on Facebook, Bridgett shared this picture of Mark Twain with no shirt on and he has a lovely amount of chest hair.
And, and my stuff is ready at the framer’s. I would like to go get it right now, but I have an afternoon of work ahead of me.
She gets up. We either go for a walk or we don’t. But she does go outside. Then she gets a treat. Then she waits for me to be done in the kitchen and she gets to lick out what’s left of the wet cat food from the can. Then she either joins me on the couch while I blog, or she goes and sleeps in the Butcher’s room. Today she wanted to go sleep in the Butcher’s room.
Yesterday, the Butcher got a new bed.
Oh my god. That reminds me. Did I tell you all about my parents’ crazy obsession with getting the Butcher a bigger bed?
Their last two visits, they’ve been talking incessantly about how much they enjoy the children at their church. And they’ve been calling me trying to suss out any information they can get about whether the Butcher has any special friends. And then, out of the blue, they decided to buy the Butcher a bigger bed.
I’ve been teasing him about this for weeks–since they announced the bed-buying scheme–because it could not be any more obvious that they are doing everything they can to get some more grandchildren short of starting a rumor that the Butcher is the Greenman and letting him loose around a bunch of chicks dancing the Maypole.
His response to the teasing has been “It’s not like they erased my memory of how to use condoms.” Yeah, try using a condom in a magical woods full of dancing Maypole fairies, the Butcher. Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.
Anyway, where was I? Yes, the bed. It’s too tall for the dog to get in by herself. So she paced around until I lifted her into it. We’re going to have to get her some steps.
Which, yes, the Professor did say we should do about my bed years ago, but that was obviously silly and this is obviously a good idea and a necessity.