I could post one of the 654 half-written posts that are lingering on my desktop. I could post a few more Flintstone milestones/updates (like how he's now 100% over his hatred of the car seat). I could relates ome humorous observations from my conversation with NotDonna last night or some of the silliness that has taken place at work today.
I could produce a moderately worthwile post using any of those methods. This is, I could if I could wrestle my mind out of the salacious gutter in which it has been lounging all day.
MacGyver has been out of town for 9 days. Or is it 10 now? Whatever, he's been gone a long freakin time. He's on his way home as I write this.
And I can't wait until he gets home.
He will be tired and grumpy, dishevelled and in need of a shower. He'll probably have a whole lot of beard growth going on.
But I don't care.
I will refrain from details, but I will admit one thing:
I am having impure thoughts.
Not even thoughts. I have been having an impure stream of consciousness all day.
I am SO ready for my husband to be home.
So forgive me for the lack of a post here. Forgive me for lack of substance or for failing to post something fun and entertaining to make up for yesterday's rant. But the inside of my head today resembles that of a pent up teenager. And I'm trying to spare you.
But let's face it,
Nine days is too damn long.
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