Potty Train

I give you, the POTTY TRAIN (by Wikus Buxtehude, 10/4/09). This is what happens when you mention to me certain stories regarding what your kid likes to say to humiliate you in stores. Thank goodness I know a good artist to help me with this task.

Tip: When in Texas and you really need to go to the grocery store, go Sunday morning during church hours. It may mean not sleeping as late as one would like, but it is so worth the trade off when those aisle are empty of the shoppers and carts being left in the middle of the aisle (it's Texas, grocery shoppers move their carts pretty much like they do their cars).

In other news, my allergies still have me wanting to kill myself. To make others miserable, I went to the grocery store today without bathing, nor did I brush my teeth. I took pity on the world and wore a bra and pulled back my greasy, night-sweated hair. It was a compromise, I realize, but no one should see anything like my boobs bobbing along with my hair plastered to the top of my head and completing fro-ing out at the bottom. I do have a bit of vanity left in this time of wishing for death. My temperature is 97.7, so obviously it is still just allergies. I have not developed anything more serious to get out of work. Sigh.

Tomorrow, I promise to attempt bathing.