Not knowing, talking about or even thinking about things is my new coping strategy. If I don't know, it isn't happening.
We are not talking about my cycle. My reproductive organs are organs non grata at the moment. Cycle day 53 my fucking arse. Not up for discussion.
We are not talking about the fact that one of my reprobate cats has pissed on the spare bed again.
We are definitely not talking about the deranged dog.
We are not going to discuss my chronic hayfever.
Nor are we going to talk about being called into school because the Boy has been giving his classmates the finger.
In fact, screw talking.
I am going to have a very large whiskey.
Talking is totally overrated. Cheers!
Posted by: Kimmer | Friday, 10 June 2005 at 02:16
Meh, go have some sex. Some dirty, hard, aggressive, tension-relieving sex.
Posted by: evil one to the core | Friday, 10 June 2005 at 02:59
But you are talking about booking the honeymoon, right? Congrats on that. :)
Posted by: Pez | Friday, 10 June 2005 at 07:28
Oh my, I think I shall join you. Only I would like a whiskey sour. Haven't had one in a dog's age.
Posted by: Miss Arrogant | Friday, 10 June 2005 at 15:37
More whiskey, I agree!
Posted by: Katie | Saturday, 11 June 2005 at 14:04