Oh Shit.

Do you ever do that thing?

You know, that thing where you're kind of unaware and then that thing starts happening?

For me it started innocently enough. I traded my old impala in for a nice, compact, fuel-efficient car. (points for better gas mileage and environmental consideration).

Fast forward about 3.5 years and I'm in the new (okay, 2006) compact car.
After running to various flower shops, quite inefficiently, all the while failing to find purple roses for my niece's birthday.
Rush, rush, rush.
After having poorly planned the day and getting on the treadmill late, and being chubby and stinky, and showering late and.... (less points for poor time management and stupidity).

You know, that thing where you remind your husband to check his windshield washer fluid as he's driving, because you're terrified you'll get stuck behind a transport on the highway in slushy weather with no wiper fluid to save your ass from filthy, sandy mush, flung high speed at your windshield. Like it did to you two years ago in your compact car and you nearly drove off the highway because you couldn't see. You know, right? (less points for being an annoyingly nagging wife).

That thing where you ensured he checked his, BUT DIDN'T CHECK YOUR OWN. Because you keep forgetting that it was the OLD IMPALA that had the courtesy to let you know that you were getting LOW on fluid, whereas the new compact car just says;

"Hey you stupid motherf_cker, looks like you're outta washer fluid!!"
"Have a nice    day   death!"

You know, that thing. Where you are on the highway, doing 125 km/hr, trying to arrive with non-purple roses in time in another city, in the fast lane, in rainy/slushy weather.

And that damn OH-SHIT light comes on.

Oh well, I lived to make it to the next town and thank goodness had the paranoia and foresight to pack extra washer fluid in the trunk (I ABHOR paying $6 at the gas station for it when you can get it for $2 at the grocery store).

Lived to tell the tale. (bonus points for surviving an untimely death).

Damn I hate this compact minimalist-bells-and-whistles business.

I need a Hummer. Or, rather, maybe my husband does (tee hee).

After all, his washer fluid WAS topped up and I ran out...
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Crying over?

Just to clarify - I can still cry if I spill soy milk, right?

I mean, it easily makes just as much a mess as dairy milk.

And I think it costs more.

And the soy milk totally got into someone else's smartphone wall charger cord.

*Proceeds to cry over spilled milk and lack of hand-eye coordination*

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I had Mike Weir for Valentine's Day

Yup, that's right.

I got to TASTE HIM. He was surprisingly dry. But I drank him all in.


Oh, you guys are disgusting. I meant his sparkling wine,  jizz  jeez.

He fizzed all in my mouth. Also? The dim lighting made me look better to the New Husband. Probably.

When we saw the sign for this Italian restaurant (highly recommended by a fellow in the Williams Sonoma store), we expected shag carpeting and beads onto the doors in the washroom.

Surprisingly swanky. You didn't make the table cut if you were forced to sit at the bar or pizza bar. Just FYI.

It was surprisingly elegant, and we managed to score a table at 6pm on a Friday night with no reservations.

We must have looked mistakenly classy.

Also, holyshitandallthingsnotaffordable, have you people ever been in Williams Sonoma? The New Husband spent $36 on a whisk. A WHISK!

We spent $20 on PEPPERCORNS, people.

PK, you have got some mighty classy taste. I felt so out of place in that store.

So here's to tasting Canadian golfers like Mike Weir, while your husband watches, on Valentine's Day!!

*clinks glass in right hand to glass in left hand*

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