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About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Touché, Viking

Oh, Junior. You and your sticky, germ encrusted mouth! Why, oh why, do those wet, sloppy kisses have to be so tantalizing? Why couldn't I have said no instead of letting you slime me countless times when you were sick?

The crusty nostrils should have deterred me. The morning hacking. The projectile Spaghettios.

But no, I leaned in for every one of those gooey slobberings, didn't I?

"More!" I shouted. "Coat me with your mucus you mucilaginous hunk!"

Thanks for the head cold. The raspy throat that makes me sound like a prank caller. The dry cough. The nausea.

(Charles, my nasal passages just check mated your kidney. Ha!)

1 comment:

The Fritz Facts said...

That is the worst. You want you help your kids feel better, but you don't want them to give it to you. I have a nasty one right now too, and I blame hubby though.

Feel better!