Okay, this is serious. The husband has claimed the television tonight, for football. Football. We only have one TV-just what am I suppose to do tonight? I can only make nice in blogger world for so long before I start having Real Housewives withdrawal symptoms.
Plus I'm still sick and pathetic, and want nothing more than to lie on the sofa and fill my mind with lovely "reality" mush.
What's that? I should read? Bah. Stop it. I haven't found my next good book. I'm stuck. I have nothing loaded up on the Nook. Suggestions anyone? Anyone? Think lots of drama, tears, tragedy, no vampires, no dragon tattoos or kid wizards-just good old fashion stories of family mayhem.
I need my TV. But my husband isn't budging. He says that it's a "big game." Oh aren't they all? Bigger than catching the 411 with Andy Cohen, Watch What Happens? Not possible.
But I lose. The only glimmer of hope for the rest of this evening is that along with some antibiotics, my doctor prescribed me cough syrup with codeine to knock-me-out. Oh hallelujah! Bring it on. Unconscious sounds pretty good these days.