I didn't watch the State of the Union address last night. My mom would be horrified... but really, I couldn't bring myself to witness the train wreck. If I hear him say it "nuke-you-lar" one more time, I may claw my own eyes out.
Sorry, Mom. But if it helps, I can give you something else to obsess about... I'm a registered Democrat.
But I still wouldn't vote for Hillary.
Today was a bit of a washout, though I did manage to keep Jack from tearing the house apart completely, so it should still be presentable for the playgroup here tomorrow. It's the first time I've hosted an official Mom's Club activity. I can't decide if I should pull out the only turtleneck sweater I own and go all conservative suburbanite, or throw caution to the wind and rock my new "Who wants a Sugar Daddy?" T-shirt.
The only thing I know for sure is that Mommies at playgroups expect snacks. On that note, I'm heading to 7-11 in search of Coffee Mate and pastries. As I am going totally alone, this is the Mommy equivalent of what a night out at the clubs used to be. Except now, instead of body glitter, I'm wearing baby spit-up. (For the uninitiated, "spit-up" is what you call baby's puke. It's supposed to sound cuter, I think - but really it just allows me to be in denial that my life has actually come to the point where I voluntarily leave the house wearing someone else's vomit.)
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