... is that I have no self control. I lose myself in a great story. I finally read the copy of Water for Elephants that Mrs. H left on my coffee table, um, a good while ago. Really good. Luckily, reading doesn't make me queasy- who knew that knitting ever would?
The Mister is looking forward to reduced energy bills this winter. I am so overheated that he is complaining that he is cold when I have the windows open in the car or the house. I am still wearing sandals because even those shorty anklets keep me too warm. How is that for irony? And rude. What about all these wool sweaters that I have acquired in the last 3 years and the cardigan that may someday be complete? And more rude? ... a belly on fire and Tums that make it not burn but yucky nonetheless. Rude.
Have you guessed, yet? Why I haven't been pregnant in the last 7 years? You thought it was the trauma of having 2 boys 18 months apart? No. I am a cranky pregnant lady. Complain. Complain. Complain.
In the interest of maintaining our friendship, I will try really hard to refrain from giving voice to the tirade in my head. But really, I am not glowing. I am hot and uncomfortable, having an endless hot flash. Somebody bring me a glass of ice water, please?!
I wonder if I have any other good books around here that I meant to read...