There is a durn crick in my durn neck.
I sneezed wrong about five minutes after I got out of bed. I was scooping coffee grounds into the machine, turned my head to sneeze and it was all over.
You know the moment you hurt yourself and you just think, Well, it's all over for the day, isn't it? There may be about four thousand things I wanted to do today, but my neck is going to be a bitch about the whole thing, so probably only about a thousand things will get done.
Just so that you know, I turned on the little thingy-bopper on Blogger that lets you read my blog a lot easier on your mobile device (aka your iPhone. We all have iPhones now and Apple is going to take over the world and some day Steve Jobs will be president; let's just face the music). You can thank me later.
This neck thing is making me a little testy! Heh. I said testy. Get it? Testes? I come by my dirty sex humor honestly, believe me. You do not want to know the things my dad says at the dinner table during family gatherings.
Which reminds me, my friend swallowed her tongue ring on Saturday night, as eight of us were out to eat at a restaurant. Someone at the time said, You should blog about this! (I'd had a martini and two glasses of wine by then, so sorry to whomever suggested it) So here I am. My friend says she's unsure if she will replace the tongue ring or allow her tongue to go back to its natural, ring-less state. There was a lot of eye rolling and head nodding toward her husband, for his depraved love of her tongue ring. We blame him for the whole thing.
It just makes things easier. Blame your husband. Or your mother.
If it's not one thing, it's your mother. I like to say that to my mother and then laugh uproariously.
It's the little things.
All right, I need to go ice this crick. Til tomorrow.