So I know that I’m always saying that I have nothing to write about.
And then I type 2,100 words, telling you that I have nothing to write about.
Some people’s spiritual gifts are not those of hospitality or healing the sick.
Tonight, though, I really feel like I have nothing to write about, clear down to the marrow of my bones. Or maybe it’s just that my left contact feels like a sheet of cheap, chunky construction paper in my eye, and I really just want to take it out and crawl into bed. And? For the record? I think that my heels are equally as dry. No one ever tells you when you’re seventeen years old and living in your prime that one day you will grow up, and you will have heels that scare you, right before flip-flop season begins.
If a snake saw mine, he’d shake his head and say, “I’d just shed that layer, crawl right out of it, and never look back.”
Clearly, I’m in the market for Visine and Vaseline. MeMaw is getting along in her years and she appreciates different beauty products these days.
My house also looks like a crime scene. I swear (except I try not to, unless blue paint is involved over a four-foot section of my hardwood floor) that if the authorities stopped by RIGHT NOW, they’d ask me to phone my insurance company and to itemize things that are missing. They’d naturally suspect that we’d been ransacked over here at the Jedi Manor. The answer to that would be no. We just have a TODDLER who unloads every drawer and every cupboard and every toy box and every cabinet and every closet and every garbage can, and sometimes we simply decide to sit on the sofa and give him free run of the place. I feel like I should have some shame here, but the honest truth is I still invited Katie over for an hour this evening while our kids were at youth group.
I just told her to step over the crime scene tape and not to touch anything, since we’re trying to gather fingerprints and nail down a suspect. And then I made her promise not to tell anyone what living conditions she witnessed tonight, because I don’t want the Department of Family Services thinking that my children are in danger because there are fourteen Ritz crackers crushed on my kitchen floor at the moment.
Anyway, I could carry on all night with nonsense, but then the twitch in my eyeball that’s due to DRY CONTACT LENS, GLADYS would probably get pretty severe.
Y’all carry on and have a glorious Wednesday evening.