Yeah, I'm a playah. Hard-workin' playah.
Delirium is almost as fun as kissing my husband after I've had a glass of wine. Almost, but not really. Kissing is cooler. Yeah.
But delirium is fun too. Especially if it's from playin' with so many fun friends. Yesterday four Herrons came to play in the morning and stayed for lunch. Then 3 neighborhood girls hung around all afternoon, including the time that 4 Kicklighters were here. Before Browns and Kick's dined on some fabulous dinnah (grilled cheese), my neighbor Lindsey and her daughter came to hang some too. Today Marne and her 3 little Woods stayed for lunch after carpool. This afternoon we've been cleaning out like mad for a garage sale on Saturday. And now I'm pooped. The best kind of pooped.
But off again! to the Kirk to meet said cool-kissin' husband for some much-needed, restful worship. Taxes are on the agenda for later tonight, and I hope I'm in better shape to help him then than I am now. Unless I pick up some 2-buck Chuck on the way home. Hee, hee.
And just to clarify--because someone asked if I was, in fact, drunk when I wrote this--I was, in fact, completely sober. And yet still a playah. I'm just that fun. Really. Don't laugh.
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