Words: where's your hat?
Caffeine: morning cup
Evil Calories: chocolate chip cookie bars
Reality TV: bad things on Vh1 that I won't openly admit watching
Okay. The post-parental unit visit haze has lifted, and I remember where I was in my book. I was standing in the entry way of the apartment with Beatrice, trying not to offend her. Well, I wasn't , my MC was. I was huddling in the corner writing and cramming my face with cool ranch Doritos. By the way, you can't not offend Beatrice. She's just one of those people, but my poor MC is not aware of this yet. She thinks she's just caught Beatrice in an off mood. Silly MC.
Today, I will finally get on with the next chapter. I have vowed not to leave the house, not just for the sake of writing, but we're also having a very bad hair day. And when I saw "we", I mean my poor child. See, hubby and I decided that we weren't going to pay the stinking $15 to take him somewhere so he could scream his head off while some poor woman tries to maneuver scissors around his head. Instead, we pulled out the clippers and went to town. And now it looks like he got his head caught in the vacuum cleaner. It's all patchy and different lengths. It's not even messed up enough to be considered punk rock. It's just bad. And, due to the odd, hair clogged noise the clippers made, any mere suggestion at letting us try and fix it launches operation toddler shit-fit. He's now convinced the clippers are trying to eat his soul. So, until we can come up with a plan B, we're staying in.