I got to go on a field trip on Thursday instead.
Sweety, me and the four seventh graders that we were in charge of walked all over Epcot. I am an idiot and wore new shoes. I'd purchased them the night before and they were very comfy in the store. I put them on Thursday morning and Sweety told me that they would end up hurting my feet. To shut him up, I wore them around the house for an hour or so with socks on.
I took the socks off when we left the house and Sweety insisted on taking them in his pocket because he knew I'd need them later in the day. How right he was. I now have photographic evidence that I am becoming like my mother more each day. I looked like a total dork with those socks on and my feet still hurt but at least they soaked up the blood. After stomping all over the place in those shoes for 8 or so hours - they are nice and broken in now. It will be a pleasure to wear them in the future.
Being off with Sweety yesterday was great! We had some of the best bbq around and then just goofed around. Since we were in Orlando, we decided to go to the Oriental Supermarket and discovered that it had closed. So Sweety found another one and got me all of the things needed to make kimchi. He will be doing that for me later today. He fucking rocks.
We got home a bit before 6 p.m. and decided that we would have something to drink. Out of everything we had, I felt that a 302 was needed. (That's 2 shots of Bacardi 151) It had been a good 9 years or so since I'd last had one. Sweety didn't want to do it but
After sex, are you a hop right up and go to the bathroom person or do you stay in the bed for a bit? I'm a hop right upper. I don't want to leak anything on the bed that I'm gonna have to sleep on later. I don't know how it happened, but as I was rolling off the bed like a ninja last night, something slick hit the floor before my feet did and I damn near broke my neck when I slipped in it. As I was scrubbing it up with I towel I was muttering, "Die, you little motherfuckers! Die!" Sweety wanted to know who I was talking to and I told him it was the murderous sperm. He said it was disturbing that I'd talk to it like it was a living thing. But aren't there millions of little doctors and lawyers in every wad some guy blows? Sweety now fully understands why I squeal, "Doctors and lawyers! Plumbers! Great poets!" and emit tiny screams when flushing the toilet after sex.