Anyone Need Some Ex-Lax?

Okay, I know I’ve been a lax(ative) mothereffing craphead in updating lately, but the truth is, I really don’t feel like writing in my blog. I don’t feel like writing, period. Not even my shopping list. Lordy, you should’ve seen my shopping list last Friday. Very lean, no plot, wooden characters, and my penmanship was atrocious; case in point: my husband, who usually does the grocery shopping, purchased Ex-Lax instead of the “purple medicine” (aka Children’s Advil) I’d scrawled on the list, and presented the little box of chocolatey magic to me with a grin and a “stopped up, Lor?”

No, Lar, I’m not “stopped up.” I wrote “purple medicine” on the list, not “poop medicine.” I couldn’t remember the brand of fever-reducer we usually get because my brain is screwed to high heaven, and Ariel came down with a raging fever, and I just wanted the list to be done with, so I wrote “purple medicine” figuring you’d know what I was talking about, okay? What the hell’s wrong with you? Can’t you read my mind, Lar? CAN’T YOU READ MY GODDAMNED MIND?!

So he looks at me and says, “The words ‘poop medicine” are clearly written on this list. P-O-O-P, see?”

Yes, it clearly said “poop medicine,” but that didn’t shame me into admitting that my brain activity as well as my penmanship are akin to a drunken infant‘s. No, instead I go, “Well, what if I had diarrhea? Huh? What if I did, Lar? What if I needed, like, Immodium AD or something? YOU DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL! Wahhhhh! Oh, WAHHHHHHHHH!

Oh, I'm embellishing a bit here, but clearly, my husband deserves a Saint of the Year award. Or something.

One last thing before I go light up my pipe:

Dear My Daughter’s Teachers,

She has clothes to wear -- clean clothes. Many, many pairs of lovely pants, fashionable pants, pants that cost an arm and a leg if you’re of the typical shrinking middle income bracket, which we most certainly are.. Unfortunately, my girl prefers to wear only a select number of items There is simply no explanation as to why she decided to wear camouflage snow-pants today other than the fact I didn’t feel like doing laundry for a few days, and her select favorites are in the dirty clothes basket. I think it’s fair to say that a busy mom like myself has every right not to do laundry on Easter Sunday. I prepared a big-ass turkey dinner, had company over, y’know, shit like that. You understand, I’m sure.

So when you hear my daughter swishing into class today with her big snow-panted legs, please know that although I definitely do not approve, I can do nothing to prevent future clothing mishaps; my daughter, as you know, is in a class all by herself. She rocks, though, yeah?

Allow me to apologize in advance for the mud-stained, ripped-at-the-hem, so-long-they-drag-under-her-heels baby blue pajama pants she will insist on wearing tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Lori Young