Just Pretend That You Wouldn't Have Guessed This About Me

How was your weekend?

Ours was lovely, a huge swirl of argue ridden nonstop snot leaking festivities, coupled with low grade fevers and the Colts losing their shot at the Superbowl. Like I said, just. lovely.

The Sudafed is finally starting to kick in, though, and today we treated ourselves to some nice restaurant meals and a couples massage and we're pretty much back to not threatening to bludgeon each others eyes out with slightly dull objects. Almost.

This afternoon I started working out the details of our trip and, again, I CANNOT THANK YOU ALL ENOUGH for your ideas and comments and emails and reminders that lingerie weighs way less than my ski jacket. Very helpful. Especially the person who suggested we pack a super size bottle of Tums and only eat a strict diet of gelato for fourteen days straight.

WHICH IS WHY I COME TO THE INTERNET FOR ALL OF MY ADVICE.

Anyway, when I wasn't blowing my nose or trying not to vomit, I spent the last two days packing and repacking and then repacking again. And barely not beheading my beloved. And trying my very best to recover.

And lusting after all things Italian.



I have a weakness for Fendi. And carrara quarries. And pasta.

SURPRISE.

I also have a tendency to become utterly irrational when heavily medicated and unable to breathe out of my nose and he won't stop snoring.

Anyway. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to you, Andy, for attempting to stuff your fist in your mouth just before three o'clock in the morning and then trying to hightail it to The Guest Bedroom. And for telling you that your snores smell like poop.

That was completely and totally uncalled for.