I'm going to go lounge by the pool this afternoon. In truth, I have 87 gazillion emails in my inbox, and 72 million messages in my voice mail. If I owe you some manner of response, please know that it's very likely that I love and appreciate you and I am not going to get back to you until September.
Tim is having a procedure on his knee next week. Which is great, given how we are real bored this Summer, with absolutely nothing to do. I'm glad I've had so much practice sitting in waiting rooms, while people I love are sliced and diced.
Who is sarcastic?
Also, I think I have a wart. Warts are not very ladylike. How do you get them? Mine is on the palm of my hand, which I find both gruesome and fascinating. Wouldn't that be gross if I got lots of them on the palm of my hand? I'd be like a braille message. That gives a whole new meaning to the term "talking with my hands."
Oh dear.
I'm glad we've had this little talk.
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