First of all, we have just hit Post Four Hundred on this little blog of ours, which is a milestone, people, because (as we talked about yesterday), I am easily distracted and have very little stick-to-it-ness sometimes.
And in other news, I woke up with a headache this morning that pretty much said the words, “This will be a day-ruiner.” When I told Hubs about how my head was full of the nasty ache, he asked, “How bad does it hurt?” And I said, “Well, it’s either going to be a migraine, or it’s not.”
And Hubs looked at me with the look that he gives to people when the button on their computer mouse is broken, which prevents them from clicking on Pandora’s website, and causes them to scream out, “Virus! My computer is infected! My computer is plum BUSTED!” And then, turns out, it’s just a button malfunction that said person wasn’t even aware of because said person didn’t rub two brain cells together and even NOTICE that the issue was with the mouse.
Indeed. It’s either going to be a migraine, or it’s not.
And those, people, are some words that you can take to the bank, because if you place your money on them, it’s going to come back all aces.
I told Hubs this morning, “Listen. Don’t expect grand things out of me today. I may not get beyond the sofa.”
Again Hubs gave me the look that he reserves for people who are convinced that Pandora hates them and has locked them out, when really the problem is that little performance issue with the mouse button. Apparently Hubs quit expecting grand things out of me a number of years ago, since he thinks that my life is one long coffee date with the girls after another.
I told him this morning, “Listen. My life is NOT one long coffee date after another.”
And then the very first text message that I sent out this morning said, “Abort. Sitting the fencepost with a headache that could go either way. I think I have to skip Starbucks this morning.”
Of course I didn’t mention that little text message to Hubs.
The good news is that my first in-coming text message of the day said, “Feel better. BTW, preschooler feels icky. Coffee with preschooler is bad anyway. Coffee with SICK preschooler is total nonsense.”
And that is how I came to be hopped up on Excedrin Migraine tablets this morning, as I laid in a semi-comatose position on the sofa and flipped the pages in a couple of magazines, wishing that we had a live-in housekeeper named Rosario who would have brought me cold washcloths for my head and made me a cup of weak coffee with a double shot of White Chocolate Caramel Coffee Mate in it.
I’m also happy to report that the drugs eventually worked their magic, and I took the fork in the road that said, “It’s Not.”
As in, it was either going to be a migraine, or it wasn’t, and it wasn’t, due to heavy doses of over-the-counter pills.
I think that the Migraine-Which-Wasn’t may actually have been in response to the movie Beastly.
On Monday night, I told Hubs, “I’m going to the cinema to see Beastly tonight.”
The word Beastly actually caught Hubs’ attention. He raised an eyebrow of interest at me, which clearly stated that I should explain the plot of the show because he was intrigued. Any movie with the word BEAST in it could go either way for Hubs. (Either it’s going to be a good show for him, or it’s not!) The word BEAST may mean something dark and epic, where creatures the likes of which Frodo Baggins has never seen might come forth with poisonous darts and limb-severing swords, and THAT would be a good flick, in Hubs’ opinion, especially if the beasts used an exploding hot water heater to destroy an entire village with fire.
I told Hubs, “It’s a remake of Beauty and the Beast.”
And Hubs instantly replied, “I’m NOT going.”
And I immediately shot back, “That’s great, because I had no intentions of inviting you to this one. I watched Letters to Juliet with you last week, which was enough self-inflicted torture to last me for six years. This is a movie for GIRLS ONLY.”
And Hubs responded with, “I’m glad we’re on the same page then. Love you.”
And, people, listen. Beastly threw down some good previews, but I’m here to assure you that all the good parts of the movie were actually IN the ninety-second trailer. The acting was so bad, I was actually embarrassed for the stars in the show. I wanted to take the actors and actresses under my wing, sit them all down in comfortable chairs at Starbucks and tell them, “Well, you gave it all you had. And I’m sure that your NEXT movie will win y’all nominations by the Academy.” The dialogue was cheesy enough to make us laugh out loud at the scenes which were meant to be dramatic and heart-touching, but which came across as dang funny instead.
And also? I think it’s safe to say that had we been fourteen-year-old girls, this show would have been both epic and romantic; since we’re just a titch older than fourteen, this show cost us each $8 and two hours of our lives that we’ll never get back.
And it apparently causes headaches, which will either become a migraine or not, two days later.