No Poops Or Toilets In This Post. Well, Just A Few.

So, my daughter informed me that my last few posts were boring, and that I had to stop talking about my feces all the time. She's so picky. And judgmental.

Okay, so I'll stop. But, as I explained to Em, my blog is about me and my life, and if all that's really going on it at the time is centered around the toilet, what's a person to do?

But still, I'll try and refrain from mentioning my poops or the toilet at all in this post ... although I've now mentioned them four times already. Sorry.

I spent the better part of the weekend getting my brain and body ready for Christmas, because, as I'd said in a previous post, I have to take on ALL the Christmas prep responsibility this year because Mr. Handsome is working so hard. Whatever. He's just lucky I enjoy spending lots of money working so hard.

As part of my preparation, I spent the better part of an afternoon shopping for gifts. I couldn't believe my good fortune since in one stop, I'd found probably one-third of everything I have to get for family and friends. As most of you probably know, that just never happens. Yes, the rainbows and unicorns were shining out my butt that fine day.

I now have to tally up the expenses so that I can hand in a full and detailed financial report to Mr. Handsome.

Then, I spent Sunday running to the mall -- where it seems everyone and their mother also decided to visit -- in the feeble attempt to pick up some craft-type stuff with the kids because, well, they needed it. Is there ever any other reason? No, there is not.

And then, guys, I wrote all my Christmas cards! That's right! Every single one. This is probably a record for me. I'm calling Guinness today to let them know.

This week is going to be spent getting ready for our Disney trip, which is happening in nine days, guys! NINE.Days. That's one day more than eight, which is one more than seven, which is a week.

I'm going to spend a lot of time, methinks, looking for all my summerish clothing, and figuring out what NOT to bring to Florida. I'll also be spending loads of time this week trying to find all of Dee's clothing, because he tends to think that "putting things away" means stuffing them under his bed and behind his shelves.

I've also decided that if I don't find a sensible and cost-efficient swimsuit here, I'm just going to buy one in Florida. The prices will probably be better there, for one thing. And I won't have to end up taking one of the last suits on the rack (which is the case here at this time of the year), which also means that it will look anything but presentable on me. I'm not vain, but even I cannot handle wearing a swimsuit that makes me look like a cross between Dustin Hoffman and Tony Curtis.

And, while I fret and panic over all these miniscule details, Mr. Handsome is what? You'll never guess.

He's back to listening to Susan Boyle. Yes, that's right. I've lost him yet again to this:




Not only that, but he's spent the better part of the entire weekend watching chick flicks.

Please send help.