No, Tyra, I'm Not Plus Size Just Curvalicious

I recently had the opportunity to lay around in bed until 3:00 in the afternoon.

Granted I was hungthefuckover and had a tiny leprechaun using my skull as his own happy little drum set but STILL I was in bed without children yelling at me to get them some damn cereal.

Where were the kids?  Locked in the closet, of course.

HOLY SHIT I'M ONLY KIDDING CHILL OUT.

They were at Grandma and Grandpa's probably having the time of their life eating fruit snacks and jumping on the bed, of course.

Remember those days?

Laying around all day and watching Real Housewives of whatever whacked out city they're in now and eating Cheetos without any pants on?

78 and sunny?

Meh, I'm too busy letting this America's Next Top Model marathon melt my brain while yelling at the Tyra because the one 'plus size' model is my size and damnit! where are my Cheetos?

Fierce.

But, I blame the a-a-a-a-a-a-alcohol for staying in bed all day on this *one* occasion in approximately 5 years.  Since having the two lovely crotch rockets it's hard for me to turn off the crazy.

If I sit on the couch too long during the day I think the house is going to collapse all around us because ZOMG there's laundry to be done and weeds to be pulled and, is that dust? and I wonder if I have enough paint to paint the living room?

I welcome the change, though, because now my house is clean-ish and I have the motivation to, like, do things rather than sit around like a giant lazy turd.

Weird how kids do that to ya.