I know that my last post was a real cliff-hanger: what is that mysterious horse-ass-parasite outbreak on her face? The doc confirmed that it was shingles. In fact, Google concurred by running herpes and roofing ads all over my site. (I may have also spotted an ad for a roofer with herpes. However, that was after my high school friends and I had a fancy Tea Luncheon/Happy Hours that involved more wine and Bloody Marys than Chamomile and Earl Gray. Good times!)
When I was 30, I had shingles on my ribs, which ironically was the last time I probably had ribs. Now I just have rolls where my bra’s band pushes down and my underwear pushes up. (Maybe I should hold on to that ad for the roofer with herpes in case Tom ditches me for some skinny bitch!) Anyway, the doctor explained that they are stress-related to which my husband sympathetically replies, “Great, that’s all I need to hear.” He knows all too well that I will hold it over his head whenever I get a bug up my butt.
One of the things that causes me the most stress over the holidays is coming up with a fabulous, creative Christmas card. It’s my own fault. We send out a somewhat clever holiday card announcing that I was knocked up and it pretty much snowballed from there.
My dad asked if I would post all of the cards so he can show his golf buddies. So I am going to score brownie points/move up the inheritance ladder and walk you down Christmas Card Memory Lane over the next few weeks. I know my dad is biased, but I hope you get a kick out of them, too!
Bun in the Oven
Our Bun is Done
(Dear Google, Please run holiday ads on video game sales, girls’ clothing that doesn’t look trampy, affordable babysitters, cute boots discounts, wine coupons, Groupon and frozen appetizers that I can pass off as my own at a holiday party. Thank you.)