Because at this rate, I may forget how to cook.
First, my mother-in-law was here.
Then I had a 1000-word piece to submit for class Wednesday — a piece no one seemed to especially like, so that kind of sucked. Dinner that night: sympathy cheeseburgers.
Thursday was Museum Day — after which an Obama-supporting waitress spotted my husband’s sticker and slipped us free cake, to which I say: damn, bring the revolution if there’s gonna be free cake, yo!
Friday was Chinatown where I bought this:
Hell if I know what a honeymansi is, but refreshing? Check. Exciting? Well, I guess. It is fruity and delightful, I’ll give it that.
Saturday was a morning of four hours of incredibly intense French — like someone flipped open the top of my head, dumped a basketful of French in, shoved it around to fit, threw some more in on top of that, then sat on my head until it was closed enough to latch shut.
Then, more primary results that afternoon and again Sunday.
Yesterday, I stared into space a lot, tried to remember when to use y or en in the passé composé, stared into space some more, tried to Google honeymansi.
And now today is Super Chesapeake Crabcake Tuesday or something.
Is it November yet?