Sunday night. The windows are open, a cool breeze is blowing through the house, and I don't have a doggone thing to do. I bought groceries, studied for the upcoming test in abnormal psych, bathed THEBOY (which at this point consists of filling the tub with water, pointing to it, and telling him I'll see him in 20 minutes).
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THEBOY likes to watch his Justice League DVD with the language set to something other than English sometimes. He finds French to be especially hysterical.
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Mail Order Bride is doing fine. She can take two Vicodin and still drive safely to Dallas. That woman's tolerance for opiates is startling. One of those pills would make me stumble around and want to hear Country Joe and the Fish.
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Tuesday night Ken Shamrock and Tito Ortiz get it on again. Is anyone paying any attention at all to this fight?
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BB's current therapy: Food. Man... it's been about 10 days since I had a martial arts workout. The back is close to being ready. The calf and the shoulder aren't bad.
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See, something terrific has happened since M.O.B. got hurt: People are feeding us! She got hurt at some sort of PTA gathering at the skating rink. Now we have multiple visitors--PTA members--each day bringing us meals! Homemade soups, fried chicken, desserts, lunch meat, drinks... it's been great! They've even given us a menu. We'll have meals well into this coming week. I'm touched, I must say.
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At this rate, though... man, with all this good food around and BB not working out... this could get ugly. But I won't let it.
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Should hit the sheets soon. Have a good week.
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