Black Saturday

I am beyond tired of being sick. I was gonna write that in all caps but that would have been too much finger strength. what kills me is that this is like the second to last saturday before Christmas!!!!!! THIS day should be waking up to gingerbread lattes, banana/nutella crepes at the grove right before the Nordstrom doors open, shopping merrily with ole chums, eating lunch at cheesecake factory, catching a hip holiday movie with popcorn and milkduds and then coming home to decorate your tree drinking mexican hot chocolate with marshmallows and a plate of snickerdoodles, singing along to clay aiken's christmas album by candlelight whilst you merrily wrap all your super cute presents that you bought, putting away all the other super cute "presents" you bought in your closet, if you know what I mean. A day so warm and fuzzy you could puke snowglobes and Myrrh.

NOT sneezing your way to the dog park when it's still dark outside, with pockets full of damp kleenex and dashed hopes, one eye watering from a scratchy contact lens, trying to sing along to christmas songs in your car but the high note inducing a coughing fit the likes of a 73 yr old man with a 12 pack a day marlborough habit, coming home to an empty cold house with a sweaty brow staring at last night's chicken pot pie and orange hi-C fest littering your coffee table as you realize your dog treats and toilet paper are running out and you MUST hit costco today, the second to last saturday before christmas!! which should be renamed "black costco saturday" and you'll be run over with carts the weight of a midsize car filled with industrial chef-boy-ar-dee cans and Frozen cubicles of pizza snacks and bricks of cheese that NO wolf in america could huff and puff and blow down, and then wait in the parking lot for 2 hrs to exit eating your churro and $1 polish dog for your holiday feast only to come home and have to haul up the stairs boxes of dog jerky, toliet paper and the 13 hard cover new release books you had to have, and then pass out in bed watching 90210 marathons because you'll never really read those 13 hardcovers.

Perhaps I can just live vicariously watching the Walsh's try to make a Beverly Hills Christmas more like their cozy michigan christmas by buying a snowblower and a casio piano.