TMI

You guys, I just want to tell you about my dedication. I am typing this right now from bed, where I am shivering and mopping my forehead and being very dramatic telling B, “but I must . . . blog.”

See, we had dinner at his moms house, who is an awesome cook, but who cares naught about fat content. So the lasagna is amazing but has two pounds of cheese in it, and meatballs. There was garlic bread. And a homemade ice cream cake, made with angel food cake rolled out and smeared with butter pecan ice cream, then rolled back up and dusted with powdered sugar. I KNOW.

We don’t eat like that very often, and sometimes my body is just like: FILE CORRUPTED. UNABLE TO SAVE.

Usually I make it home. Not so much tonight. My SIL is telling me a story and I was like: RUH ROH. I went to the first bathroom and it was occupied, so I had to go in the master bathroom. And you guys, I was in there for a half an hour. Oh. My. God. And you know how it’s worse when you are at someones house because I was waiting for someone to knock and ask if I was alright, which is the worst. I was about to text B not to come looking for me, but our niece is obsessed with our BlackBerry’s, so I was worried she would get my: OMG SHATTING BRAINS OUT DON’T COME FIND ME message.

We barely made it home before the process repeated itself, minus the white hot terror of not being at home whilst reenacting the Dumb and Dumber bathroom scene.

But don’t cry for me, Argentina! I’ve soldiered on! I’ve not let the humiliation stop me from turning this into NaBloPoMo material.

You’re . . . welcome?