Ragged

So, I have an intolerance for tomatoes. In fact, every time I have them, I am in pain for about two days.

On Monday, we had Matt Wilkins, Remy and Bethany Wilkins, Jon and Hollie Amos, and their kids over our house. Since Rachel has to run to the bathroom just about any time she is in the kitchen (she has temporary bulimia, as she affectionately calls it), I had to make supper. And being the lazy bum that I am, I chose what would be easiest for me–Italian food. Yes, with a nice red sauce. Two days later, I am still paying for it with pain all over my upper body.

As you might have noticed, Rachel’s “baby cancer” (as she also likes to affectionately call it) is fast spreading. She regurgitated an apple immediately after she finished it, and her response was, “At least it was still fresh. There’s a silver lining on every cloud.”

So between Rachel’s STD (as she also likes to call it) and my lack of sleep, we’re both pretty out of it.

And as much as we joke, we’re really excited about the baby, in a very weary sort of way.

I told the English secretary to “shoot me now” this morning. I was the third person in two minutes. I can’t even be original with my pessimism.

By the way, I’m going to give up pessimism for Lent, so if you see me make a pessimistic comment, tell me to add money to the jar.

I’m sure Bush will have a great State of the Union Address. Many we’ll all pray to Allah. (Hey, it’s not Lent yet. I can say what I want.)

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