Yes, the rumors are true--so you can all stop messaging me on Facebook. Well, all four of you can stop messaging me anyway.
I can't zip my fat pants, I ate a Cheeto off the ground at a Blue Canoe gas station, and this past weekend I asked my mother-in-law if she would be my Maid-of-Honor if I ever get remarried. She said that she absolutely wouldn't--not unless her son ends up in prison.
At this point, I wouldn't place my bets. If anyone in this marriage gets thrown in the slammer, it will most certainly be me. After all, what happens to twenty-something-year-old women who use the men's bathroom for adventure's sake and send their toddler to daycare wearing water shoes and mismatched socks? They go to jail.
Fine, not usually--but I have a tendency to overreact these days.
And this straight-up craziness is all because of some guy named Jared Lawson, who had the nerve to knock me up. Again.
At this point in time, a typical conversation in our home goes something like this:
ME: Jared. Why did you eat my frozen taquitos?
JARED: Because I was hungry.
ME: Well you can't eat my taquitos.
JARED: Why not?
ME: Because YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!!!
JARED: Amy. Are you ready for church?
ME: I'm too fat to go to church.
JARED: What? No you're not.
ME: Shut it, Jared. YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!!!
I was remarkably calm during my pregnancy with James. Seriously, I was all "Look at you, trying to steal my car. Hop out of the driver's seat and run along now young man! I wouldn't want to have to disrupt our days by calling the authorities..." And then I patted the perp on the shoulder as he dove into my bushes.
This time? Not so much. I'm more like, "Take a damn number you numbskull--this is the deli line, not a frigging circus." Then I like to cap it off by tossing an $8 loaf of bread into the darkest corner of the bonehead's cart when he goes to take the ticket. That'll show him.
But underneath the empty threats, and the air born household items, I'm really very happy. I guess I'm not so sure how Jared is feeling about the whole situation--I'll ask him about it when he finally works up the nerve to come out of the linen closet.