Ugh. Boy TV.
Thanks to this funky virus that has decided to hold my family hostage, my husband is down for the count. He has moved from the couch to his chair to the bed and back again...and this is the extent of his gettin' around for the day. And just as I suspected, I have had to hand the remote over. My Saturday remote. To a boy.
Thanks for nothin', funky virus.
Saturdays are my days. My days to clean the house at my own pace, listen to my own music, and watch what I want to on TV. Because my husband gets cabin fever in like 3.6 seconds. So, rain or shine, freezing or roasting...he's outside. And I usually push the kids out the door with him. And lock it behind them.
Then I light candles, blare me some Britney Spears or Lady GaGa (don't judge me!), and dance my way through the laundry. And then when I get tired (which only takes about 3.6 seconds), I plop down and watch Stacy London and Clinton Kelly work their magic on some poor frumpy soul....and I dream it is me.
And this is how I spend my Saturdays.
Because the giant is infected. And he has hijacked my day.
So I've had to endure a Star Wars movie, a Lord of the Rings marathon (those are like 4 hours long...each!), and lots of Man Vs. Wild and Dirty Jobs. And I can tell you that none of those shows give me my mojo.
Good thing I was able to stay in my jammies all day.
Or else I'd really be grouchy.
Ugh. Boy TV.
Labels: Being Boy Crazy