I am sick. Specifically, I have strep throat. Doesn't strep throat mean I am a 10-year-old girl with boundary issues?
I am sick in that way where your hair hurts. Which is probably why it and shampoo have not interacted in more hours than are appropriate. I am sick in that way where you can only find enough strength to click the remote to watch the next Tivo'd episode of House. Which is probably why I have self-diagnosed with 4 different illnesses as-seen-on-tv. (I definitely have Cushing's.) I am sick in that way where you can sleep 10 hours and then sleep 3 hours more. Which is probably why my height is now the measurements of my loveseat.
I know exactly how it happened. I know exactly who to blame. James Robert Kinnaird. He is my 2-year-old godson whose birthday we celebrated on Tuesday night at McDonald's. They should rename the "PlayPlace" to "PetriePlace." It is dis-gusting. And I used my multiple college degrees and Flintstones-hardy immune system and went in only 5 feet. A + B = disease.
Reason #53 not to have children. Or at least not hang out with them.