Please don't hate me, but I'm having spareribs for dinner, and other random thoughts for a Thursday afternoon.
I cleaned the bird cage and vacuumed.
The birds, chello, gaby, and keetsie, still mock me.
It's 1 PM and I am still in my pseudo-underwear.
The Ducks beat the Stars, and the farmer took a wife, and they all went to heaven in a little row boat.
Clap, clap.
Clap, clap.
Clap.
Clap, clap.
Is there a cure for sweatiness?
Lydia Pinkham, where are you.