Mr. Smock seems to be coming down with some (thankfully non-vomiting) illness, I have a ton of work, and now I'm paranoid about getting sick myself, so looks like the weekend will be super lame here in Casa de Smock.
Apparently everyone is all worried that I will die on Tuesday. Fuckers will feel bad for not seeing me prior! Oh, and I got a date on Monday. You know, the Last Supper and all that jazz.
macmars45, tell your H to throw you in a wheelbarrow and take you to the party!
I would totally go except it's 1+ hours away (from 1pm-10pm) and I don't want H to have to leave early if I need to go home. (We're a one car family.)
The really sad part is the friend's birthday party is for a friend that lives 5 minutes away from us in a tiny apt; he's celebrating at another (mutual) friend's house who happen to live 1+ hours away.
H is taking me out to lunch tomorrow to make it up to me.
Post by fussbucket on Jan 26, 2013 13:38:16 GMT -5
I have been carted in a wheelbarrow before when I sprained my ankle as a kid. Once you get over the initial humiliation, it's really not that bad.
(However, it probably would have been better if my parents had been taking me to the doctor instead of out to dinner at a nice restaurant. At any rate, the crab soup was excellent.)
My parents are coming down to visit me. DH is up visiting his parents this weekend (and is sick). I think I may try to talk my parents into shopping for a side/accent table for the living room with me today. And a lamp to go on the table