Normally it takes great events to cause me to partake in the social faux pas of foul exodus. Apparently I’m not picky or discriminatory lately- just about any four, five, six, seven or eight lettered word will suffice.
I guess as I’m nearing the final weeks my patience levels are diminishing. Exhaustion is starting to set in. And my body is absolutely on the verge of revolting. I think that may be why here lately the list of acceptable instances is ever increasing. For example:
Dogs barking- Neighbors please do consider that fences are not babysitters and just maybe the first, thirtieth and thousandth bark from your dog could mean that hello it’s freezing and they are too!
Whiny, bratty teen and tween angst.
Braxton Hicks- Exact text sent to Gibbs: Hunched over in bed again. Braxton Hicks r effin unbearable- God I hope the real ones r not like this.
Walking and/or tripping over items on the floor when I cannot see my feet.
Dropping something that requires me to bend over and pick up.
The Scale- the most basic and pure handiwork of the devil if you ask me.
Insomnia- Irony wouldn’t you say considering my body should be doing its best to force me into vast amounts of sleep.
No bagger at the grocery store- inhumane treatment towards the elderly and pregos of the world.
Repeat television shows.
Wow I was getting ready to continue the list when it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I should divulge exactly how often this is happening!
- ▼ February (4)
- Wife to Gibbs... Mother to Ziva, Abby and...