Me: I know.
D: Your arms are covered in bruises, too.
Me: The Toddler keeps kicking the crap out of me.
Me again: (yawning), man, why am I so tired all the time?
D: Maybe it's cancer.
Me: Probably. Then I'll die and you'll have to raise these three kids all by yourself.
D: No, it's not that kind of cancer. It's just the kind where all your hair falls out but you still live.
Me: Is it at least the kind of cancer where you lose weight?
D: No. You'll just have to have your asshole removed or something.
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3 comments:
I hope for the kind of sickness that lands me on the couch for a few weeks, someone waits on me hand & foot, I'm completely comfortable, and I lose 75 pounds.
I need to find out what sickness that is and breathe someone's air.
I always thought a 28 day stint in one of those swank rehabs would be nice. Massage, yoga, good food, therapy with a cute shrink who would have to listen to me bitch cause it's his job -- i guess the only thing missing would be wine but I could give that up for 28 days.
Oh my gosh, mama! Don't let that little baby hurt you! You could cut off his cookie supply *snap* like THAT if he tries it again!
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