Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Wednesday's Post: Brought to you by the Letters I-N-S-O-M-N-I-A

Somewhere around 4:00 this morning, I lost my sense of humor. Somehow (perhaps telepathically?) my husband sensed it. (Or was it the sharp pain in his ribs that clued him in?)

"Ouch!" he grabbed his side. "Why are you poking at me?"

"I can't sleep."

"I'm so sorry, Baby," he said sincerely. "Was I snoring?"

"No."

"Talking in my sleep?"

"No."

"Writhing around like an epileptic hippopotamus?"

"No."

"What was I doing then?"

"Everything," I said. "It's all your fault."

"Help me understand," he begged, "but please stop treating my ribs like a glorified punching bag."

I sighed.

"According to the Bible," I began my lecture, "I was made from your rib. Therefore, it's your rib's fault that I'm a woman with a hormonal imbalance which is currently preventing me from sleeping."

There was a long moment of silence. Finally my husband spoke.

"That's ridiculous," he said. "We're both tired and hungry. Do you want to go get an early breakfast?"

"Yes," I said. "I heard McDonald's just brought their McRibs back."

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I know all about waiting--for the right guy, for high school to end, for my boobs to come in (two out of three ain't bad).


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